


Half a Dozen of the Other

by jeejaschocolate



Series: Dressed to the Nines [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Apologies, Arguments, Awkward Boners, Ballroom Dancing, Class Differences, Colonial Times, Comfort, Coming In Pants, Complicated Relationships, Corsetry, Crimes, Cuddling, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dresses and gowns, Drinking, Explicit Descriptions, F/M, Feminization, Friendship, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Fuckery, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Character, Genderplay, Grief, Heavy Angst, Hidden Relationships, Horseback Riding, Hunting, Idiots in Love, Impact Play, Kink Discovery, Light dom/sub undertones, London in the 1850s, London society, M/M, Masturbation, Mysterious backstory, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Outmoded slang, PTSD, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-typical crime and punishment, Pioneer life, Plot, Polyamorous Character, Preferred names, References to Suicide, References to William Blake, References to bullying, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Sexual orientation is a journey, Spanking, Tattoos, Transphobia, Unconditional Love, Under-negotiated Kink, Whipping, cross-dressing, feelings of betrayal, references to murder, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-02-23 00:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 204,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13178409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: (Sequel to “Six of One” - Victorian AU, London 1850s)It was supposed to be one night. That’s all. Noctis had the experience, now he was done.…except he wasn’t. Not at all. He wanted so, so much more.





	1. The morning after

**Author's Note:**

> I have returned, sequel in hand! I just had to. It's way too much fun to stop.
> 
> So, a bunch of research has gone into this. I've been reading a lot of Anne Perry (real talk) and scouring the internet. My history nerdiness is in full swing. [Here's a map of old London](http://london1850.com/cross24.htm) in case anyone wants to look at it. 
> 
> Plus there's going to be a bunch of porn too. :D *thumbs up*
> 
> Saddle up for another long fic! (Who knows how long this will get lol)

**Chapter One: The morning after**

_Chiswick  
_ _26 October, 1856  
_ _Tuesday - Near Midnight_

The Caelum Estate was dark when night settled in. The butler had turned down the gas lamps and retired for the evening. Darkness muted the upstairs—the ornate sofas, the intricately carved credenzas, the sprawling Georgian architecture. Even the narrow corridors and whitewashed walls of the downstairs were quiet. Nearly the entire household was asleep. 

The only source of light, flickering and weak, was a candle in the downstairs kitchen. 

Ignis and Gladiolus sat around the servants’ dinner table. Their grim faces, illuminated by the dull yellow light of the candle, were interchangeable: Tight-lipped and humorless. They had been sitting in that exact spot for over an hour. At this point there was no conversation left. They stared at their own hands on the tabletop. Useless. Motionless, for lack of a better alternative. Weary.

“I could try King Street again,” Gladiolus murmured. The scarred side of his face was swathed in shadow. His cheek twitched anxiously as he spoke. “Maybe head down a little further.”

“Where, past Hammersmith? Into West Kensington?” Ignis flexed his gloved hands helplessly. 

“Yeah, or maybe the other way.” A heavy sigh escaped the bulky footman’s lips. “By Gunnersbury. They could’ve gone over there too, I guess.”

Ignis shook his head stiffly, dismissing the thought. “No. Why would they have gone west? Noctis wanted to be seen. He would’ve certainly gone east into town.”

“I’m telling you, I went as far as Old Brompton. Near the Crescent.” Gladiolus leaned back in his seat, further away from the light. “No sign of them. It’s lucky Nyx even agreed to give me a ride in the brougham carriage or else I’d be dead on my feet, heading over that far. No way those two made it any farther than that.”

There, Ignis tilted his head in small agreement. That much must be true. Walking, Prompto and Noctis could have gone no further west.

“Should I go wake him?” Eager to jump on some form of action, Gladiolus gripped the table and made to stand. “Head east? Look for these two idiots near the fields? Or along the Thames maybe?”

The light caught in Ignis’s glasses, obscuring his sharp green eyes for a moment. He considered the idea.

Prompto and Noctis were supposed to return home at 7:00 in the evening. Eight at the latest, Noctis promised. The plan was, they would have their fun, stroll about as man and woman (that is to say, “woman”), maybe go for dinner in town. That’s all. By 8:30, Ignis had anticipated welcoming his master and his master’s young blond friend home for the night. Drawing a bath and figuring out how to get Noctis out of all those layers. The petticoats, chemisette, corset, and dress….Ignis had been considering it for the better part of the afternoon.

Except, when 7:00 rolled around, the pair was nowhere to be seen. They waited, 7:30. Then 8:00. Finally 8:30, still no sign of the lord’s son and his middle-class friend. By 9:00, Gladiolus had enough waiting. He rustled up the estate’s driver—Nyx, who had the day off, damn it—and went looking for them where Ignis imagined they might be. And yet, even scouring the streets from the window of a carriage turned up nothing. 

When Gladiolus returned at 11:00, empty-handed, the two servants started to get worried. Sure, Noctis had been out this late before (much later in fact, sometimes he stayed out until morning). But. He had never been out and about dressed as a woman before. Bodice and bonnet, hint of rouge on his lips. No, that was a first.

And now he was missing. So was Prompto.

All the years of past stupidity ran on a loop through Ignis’s head. How many times had Noctis made him worry for his young master’s life, only to show up at the last possible second? There was the time Noctis had gotten into a bar fight with some ruffians. Gladiolus—admittedly the most well-built of all the servants, and the most unflinching loyal to Noctis for his own reasons—had to go and save his bumbling ass. The footman took a bottle to the eye in his lord’s defense, then both master and servant proceeded to plough through the entire gaggle of toughs, working in tandem. Ignis had been near collapse when Gladiolus and Noctis came home, bruised and bloodied, slashed in the face. But Noctis healed up without a scratch. 

“Heh, I even amaze myself sometimes,” Noctis offered carelessly while Ignis patched up Gladiolus with nothing but top shelf scotch and tea cloths.

“Your ego is what amazes me,” Gladiolus grumbled. 

Shrugging, Noctis stretched his bruised shoulder and just said, “What. I could’ve taken them. But, you know. Thanks for being a stand-up guy and everything, Gladio.”

“Hnh.” 

Noctis smiled impetuously. White teeth shining, blue eyes excited. A singular look not many got the opportunity to see. “Guess you’re kind of like…my shield, or something…” 

Even though he was still pissed, Gladiolus broke out into a half-smile. “What does that make you, a knight in shining armor? Or a princess?” 

Shrugging, Noctis laid down on the servant’s bed (a move that would have made his father collapse through the floor if he had seen) and answered, “Don’t know. Maybe a little bit of both?”

Then there was the time Noctis spent the night in….a police station, for heaven’s sake. Prompto was the one who found him. He heard through the grapevine that a lord’s young son had been arrested for swimming in the Thames on Sunday (near the Chelsea docks) and something just told Prompto that it was probably his good buddy Noctis. His intuition proved correct when he showed up at the police station and found Noctis—drenched and manacled—snoozing in one of the jail cells. Devil may care.

Of course, that time, Prompto hurried to the Caelum estate and told Ignis what happened. The valet went immediately to the station—in disguise, mind you, for the shame—and bailed Noctis out. Not to mention, he needed to bribe all the policemen on duty to keep the matter under wraps. The whole affair cost Ignis nearly three month’s salary. 

“What that boy needs is a good horse-whipping,” the constable asserted condescendingly. 

“Noted, thank you, sir,” Ignis replied. He managed to lug a sleepy, wet Noctis onto his feet, into a hooded cloak and straight back home before any other prying eyes might catch on. (Of course, some already had, but there was only so much you could do in a public display like that.)

Once Noctis had been successfully dried off, warmed, and fed a decent breakfast in bed, Ignis finally let himself sit down. His charge had the devil’s own luck—or else his title afforded him far more allowance than any other man his own age. 

Snuggling into the blankets, still exhausted from his swimming adventure, Noctis regarded Ignis with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about this one, Iggy. Didn’t mean for it to go that far. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, I promise.” 

Relieved by a clean end to a difficult morning, Ignis just nodded in his master’s direction. Face considerably softer. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again, Noct. I can’t bail you out twice and still manage to sneak it by his Lordship.”

“Got it.” 

To be fair, Noctis at least stayed out of the Thames—and the sodding police station—up until now. Also, he did make it up to Ignis; he bought his valet an expensive book about astrology. Some recent findings Ignis was fascinated by. In all likelihood, Ignis might have spent his three month’s salary on just that book. Plus, Noctis spent a whole day with Ignis pouring over the text, learning about the stars.

Although they were lifetimes away in station, Ignis and Noctis knew each other as well as brothers. As did the third footman/“shield,” Gladiolus. For both Ignis and Gladiolus, the distinction between servitude and family was very slim. Sometimes there was no distinction at all. They mostly regarded Noctis as a wayward little brother. Impulsive, troublesome. But theirs. 

This time, though. Noctis was taking it a bit far. 

Gladiolus had been against the cross-dressing idea from the beginning. He knew all about the eyes of men from watching his little sister grow up. No part of him wanted to expose Noctis—who Gladiolus knew would look fucking beautiful and far too convincing in a day gown—to that side of the world. However, Ignis had not seen the harm in such a thing. At least wearing a dress was not an incitement of violence, he thought. Not directly, anyway. 

Besides, Ignis trusted Prompto to stay by Noctis’s side the entire time. He never questioned Prompto’s loyalty. He knew the close bond between them as well. Prompto was the one friend Noctis had successfully managed to make among the townspeople. A boy from a middle-class household; his father was one of Lord Regis’s accountants. Not many young men took a liking to standoffish gentry boys with a dour, serious face and a chip on their shoulder. But Prompto could look past all that. See the fun-loving (if impish) side of the young Caelum. And Noctis cherished him for that. Once they got over the awkward boyhood phase, Prompto and Noctis were ever at each other’s sides.

But perhaps…Ignis considered letting Gladiolus take the carriage and search again. Maybe Ignis had been wrong about this one. 

After all, women attracted a particular kind of violence, didn’t they. Crimes of passion, of greed and lust. Ignis knew that—everyone did—but it had not occurred to him the way it had to Gladiolus. Now though, Ignis could not help imagining his master laying in the street somewhere with a torn bodice. Maybe Noctis was hurt, cut or beaten. Maybe he was drowning in his own shame—or maybe—

Ignis steeled himself by curling his gloved fingers into a fist. 

“Perhaps you should search near the taverns, Gladio,” Ignis said softly. He glanced at the clock and noted it was half-past midnight. 

Gladiolus’s face darkened. “The taverns?”

“Yes.” Ignis pushed up his glasses with a stolid sweep of his hand. “The more…unsavory parts of town.”

They both said nothing for a while after that. The silence was serious and heavy. Far from losing their jobs—which has more or less a given at this point—they might have to start seriously considering reporting the incident to the police. Prompto had a family. They would be looking for him—

Rapid knocking on the servant’s entrance door startled them both. Sparing each other a glance, Ignis grabbed a nearby oil lamp and lit it with the candle. Steeling himself for whatever he might find, the valet took the lamp in hand and walked to the door.

A shaken, pale-faced Prompto stood outside waiting for him. He was shivering, although it was not yet cold. The top hat they had loaned him to play the part of the gentleman was mysteriously missing. Beyond that, Prompto’s face shone with sweat and he was out of breath.

“Ah. The prodigal Argentum returns, albeit late.” Ignis could smell the guilt wafting off Prompto like a heady cologne. “And minus one Master Caelum.” 

Prompto blinked slowly, hanging his head. “Uh, yeah. Can…I come in?”

“I think you’d better.” 

Grabbing Prompto by the collar, Ignis pulled the slim man inside and dragged him into the kitchen. He forcibly sat Prompto down in a chair between him and Gladiolus, flanking the blond on both sides by two men who had lost their patience for this game hours ago.

They let the piercing, painfully still silence bear down on Prompto.

“Right, so, ummm…” Prompto mopped his forehead with one of his over-sized sleeves. They had found that six piece suit in the closet. Heaven knew who it belonged to first. “I’ll…tell you what I know.”

Gladiolus let his heavy hand fall to the table with a loud thunk. Sure enough, Prompto flinched. He realized the threat for what it was.

“After we left, we uh….” Prompto combed a hand through his unevenly shorn blond hair. “Went to Ravenscourt Park. Just sort of walking around a bit, you know. Noctis got a kick out of it. You guys saw what he was like, I mean…” 

Gladiolus cleared his throat pointedly. 

Gulping, Prompto got on with the story. “So, what happened was…well, Noctis had the idea that he should…be alone. For a bit. You know, walk around without me. Only for like an hour or so and then—”

“Wait, wait.” Gladiolus got right in Prompto’s face. “You mean, you _left_ him? Alone? Wearing _that_?”

“I-it was his idea!” Prompto waved his hands in exasperation. “He wanted to! A-and you know what he’s like! He, like, forced me to leave practically and I—!” 

Anger whipped through Gladiolus like a bolt of lightning. He grabbed Prompto’s collar with both hands, snarling deeply, and lifted the smaller man out of his chair. Realizing his life was over and accepting his fate, Prompto went still and tried not to fight it.

“Gladio, enough.” Ignis put a steady hand on the footman’s shoulder. “That won’t help. Put him down.” 

Even though his fists were shaking with rage, Gladiolus did as he was told. In times like this, he knew it was best to listen to Ignis’s advice. The valet had seen them through some nasty spats in the past. Still. Gladiolus dropped Prompto from a decent enough height that the thin-bodied man needed to catch himself on the table before he toppled to the ground.

Tears swam in Prompto’s baby blue eyes. The guilt he carried for leaving Noctis unattended turned to deep grief. “It was stupid, okay? I know…I shouldn’t have left him. I’m a fucking idiot! And now…!”

“Tell us the rest, Prompto,” Ignis urged. He gripped the younger man’s thin shoulder in small solace. Of course, Prompto was in the same kind of hell as himself and Gladiolus. The nagging regret, the not-knowing. 

“…I left him in the park at like…4:00. I think.” He put his head in his hands, not acknowledging Ignis’s support. He didn’t feel he deserved it. “And then I went back to get him at 5:00. I went back to the same spot, right where we said we’d meet, but he….Noctis wasn’t there.”

“He wasn’t there,” Gladiolus deadpanned. “Go on.”

Prompto threw his hands out to the sides. “That’s it! He wasn’t where I left him! I waited there until 5:30, then I started to walk around. I looked everywhere, all over that fucking park, every corner, but I couldn’t find him! So I retraced our steps, walked back over every street we took. Nothing! He’s just…gone!” 

By now, tears were streaming down Prompto’s cheeks. But he barely noticed. “I waited in Ravenscourt Park for another two hours after that. He didn’t show. So then I…walked all the way back here, thinking maybe Noct got bored or something and went home without waiting for me. But I guess he’s…not here.” 

The withering looks from the two servants gave him his answer. 

Prompto sniffed and wiped his face with one hand, making more of a mess than anything. “So yeah. That’s it. Now you know everything I do.”

Ignis took a deep, steadying breath. This was not good news. Left alone, Noctis’s whereabouts were now nothing more than a guessing game. With very few leads. In the best possible scenario, Noctis had gone for a long, gallivanting sort of walk and perhaps lost his way, but he was heading back to the estate as they spoke. In every other case—all much more likely—Noctis was…abducted. Or worse. 

The valet closed his eyes and adjusted his glasses. An ironic force of habit.

“…What do we do now?” Prompto asked quietly.

Clearing his throat, straightening his shoulders—very aware that the other two men were looking at him—Ignis plopped himself back into his chair.

“By now, Noctis could conceivably be anywhere in London, so there’s no sense scouring the streets,” he announced. “Well then. Gladio. Take the carriage and go wait by Ravenscourt Park. In the most conspicuous place possible so that if Noctis is, somehow, still in that area he’ll be able to find you. If heaven forbid he’s hurt, we’ll need to get him home as soon as we can. So have Nyx drive you.” 

“Right.” Not needing anything else, Gladiolus strode out of the kitchen to wakeNyx. 

“As for us,” Ignis turned to Prompto. “We wait until morning. And, we pray that Noctis has the wherewithal to come straight home from wherever he is. He’ll most definitely require our assistance when he returns.” 

“That’s it?” Prompto couldn’t believe his ears. He had not been expecting inaction—especially from Ignis of all people!

“Yes.” Ignis closed his eyes again. Not sleeping, blocking everything else out as he tried to imagine where on earth Noctis might have gotten swept off to. 

“Patience,” he murmured to Prompto, losing himself in thought as he listened to the distant sounds of Gladiolus and Nyx rousing the horses for a dire night ride. “It’s the best we can do for now.” 

This was after all another one of Noctis’s games. Ignis had learned time after time that the best move was to wait it out, instead of flying off the handle. But this time Noctis was testing the very limits of Ignis’s composure.

_____________________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames  
_ _26 October, 1856  
_ _Tuesday - Early Morning_

“Ardyn, I can’t…I can’t anymore…!”

“Of course you can, darling.”

“No seriously, I can’t! I'm telling you tha—ahh!”

The sun was rising. Thin rays peaked through the heavy curtains of Ardyn’s bedroom window. The older man noticed out of the corner of his eye, but Noctis…was otherwise occupied. 

As promised, Ardyn made love to Noctis straight through the night. To be fair, they sometimes took breaks in between rounds. After all Ardyn was equipped with a hard-on that just wouldn’t fucking quit, and somehow the man was able to angle Noctis’s body in the most delicious ways. Knees back, over his head. On his side, split in half. On all fours, chest flush against the mattress. Legs and back up, off the bed, forcing Noctis into a near handstand. 

Positions the younger man had certainly never tried before. Some that he hadn’t even thought were possible.

Bending every which way, moving however Ardyn told him to move, Noctis rode out orgasm after orgasm on the older man’s unyielding cock. Ardyn quickly learned how to move _just so_ inside of Noctis, driving the thick head of his prick into the young master’s prostate until Noctis could do little more than throw his head back, scream, and explode into wet, teeth rattling ecstasy. Ardyn could hammer Noctis relentlessly, prying that lithe, pristine body wide open and totally vulnerable. 

Or, Ardyn could rock into Noctis slowly. Staring him in the face, forcing their eyes to might. Pushing Noctis back whenever the young man tried to meet his lips in a kiss (more for relief from the intense stare than anything else, but Ardyn wouldn’t have it). Like this, Ardyn could build pleasure inside Noctis inch by inch, second by second, like pouring a glass of water one drop at a time. Just canting his hips forward, gently stroking the tip of Noctis’s dripping cock with one thumb…until, hours or days or years later Noctis could not take anymore and he came all over himself.

All in all, Noctis lost track of how many times he climaxed. By now, he had come apart at the seams and forgotten any other time before he’d gone to bed with Ardyn. His poor, strained testicles had given all they could give and Noctis was past the point where his orgasms were completely dry. But still, Ardyn fucked him. Giving him small, sweet moments where Noctis shivered through tremors that felt an orgasm, but couldn’t be, really. He forgot how to tell the difference between coming and not coming. Now, everything just felt like release. He had melted into one mushy pile of nerves and need, keening for Ardyn, wordlessly shaking his hips.

But, really. It was almost too much. Noctis could not possibly come one more time! He just couldn’t!

“You’ve done a remarkable job taking me, Noct,” Ardyn cooed, thrusting in and out of him, as easy as breathing. “And you’ve held up well. I’m impressed.” 

Noctis’s mind was so jumbled, he did not register the compliment. There was no time to be smug about this. On his knees, the young master bent forward until his face met the sheets. Maybe if he got into a good position, Ardyn would finally come and then this could all be over. Noctis didn’t know if he could take much more!

Ardyn locked his hands around Noctis’s hips, pressing him into the bed with the force of his thrusting. Keeping the young lord in that position: Ass in the air, head down. 

“But, I think I’m tired now. Time to give you what you’ve been waiting for, love.” Ardyn spoke casually, but he was out of breath. The night’s strain was wearing on him too, it seemed.

“Dude, _how_ are you still hard…?” Noctis turned his face around to stare up at the naked older man ramming into him.

There was awe on his face. Mixed in with some trace amounts of cum and whatever saliva had leaked out of him during the endless marathon. But that was all. No tears.

Grunting, Ardyn closed his eyes and let himself come. Finally. It was only his second time, up against….however many Noctis had endured. 

A trickle of hot pleasure slithered through Noctis as he felt Ardyn release inside of him. He was so full. And his brain was still gone. Part of him wanted to see how much semen he could take. How many times Ardyn could fill him before he burst and his ass overflowed…but, then, the older man pulled out and Noctis was left gaping. 

It seemed the night was over at last.

Ardyn collapsed onto the bed beside Noctis, heaving a contented sigh. His crimson hair was splayed all around his head, and his tight body was slick with sweat. Noctis took a moment just to stare at him. 

Somehow he had gotten Ardyn naked (they both were, so that was only fair). With his shirt off and some light streaming into the room, Noctis could see the black sun tattoo on Ardyn’s chest in full clarity. He tried to commit the initials to memory. Not only that, Ardyn also had two other tattoos: One on his left bicep facing outward, seven stars in a strange, awkwardly spaced line. And one on his right forearm near his elbow, facing in, the underside of the arm. It looked like a tree with thick branches and long leaves, a snake wrapped around the trunk. The drawing was kind of bad, but maybe it was a weeping willow? Noctis peered closer to get a better look.

He stopped when he felt a burly hand on the side of his face. Ardyn was peering down at him, stroking his cheek in what looked like tired admiration.

“That…” Ardyn began slowly. His voice deeper than ever, cracking somewhat. “…was a hell of a thing, my dear. I quite enjoyed it.”

His mouth twitched into a smirk. “And evidently so did you.” 

Noctis huffed. He laid down on Ardyn’s chest, feeling immersed in the sweaty smell of their love making and the now familiar slide of skin against skin. Had he enjoyed it? Hell yeah he did! There was nothing—no other experience in his life—quite like that. Even now, Noctis felt drained. Empty of everything except the need to be close to this strange man he had just met.

But he didn’t need to tell Ardyn that.

“Hmm…it was okay, I guess,” Noctis said flippantly. “But I mean, you know. You didn’t make me cry. And you promised you would make me cum so hard I burst into tears so…”

Noctis thought that little jab might offend Ardyn (some bizarre urge in him so badly wanted to see what would happen when Ardyn got mad), but instead, the older man just laughed. 

He tucked some black hair behind Noctis’s ear and said, “That’s true. And I’ll admit, towards the end I started to go a little easy on you. A fancy of mine, perhaps.” 

A little _easy_? Noctis’s eyes went wide, he couldn’t help it. How the hell was any of that an easy ride? Unless Ardyn was just fucking with him…yeah that had to be it. This guy was just playing like he was all that, when really…

…well, really, Noctis had completely lost himself for a long time there. Whether that was Ardyn’s best work or not, it hardly mattered. Ardyn had totally dominated him. Brought him to a point of completely unselfconscious pleasure. 

And really, Noctis did not have a retort for that.

“But, it was your first time. So.” Ardyn heaved a sigh and rolled into a sitting position. He dragged Noctis up with him. “Come with me.”

“…Huh?”

Saying nothing, Ardyn dragged Noctis to his feet and half-carried him into the washroom. He set the bath to running (Noctis shivered in his nakedness, but he was yet again surprised that Ardyn could operate his bath without any assistance from his manservant…although, it did not seem like Ardyn had a valet, now that Noctis thought about it) and threw his guest into the tub.

“Let’s get you clean.” 

Eyebrows bouncing, gold-flecked eyes alive with mirth, Ardyn picked up a brush and set to work scrubbing down Noctis. His hands were a bit rough—more than once, Noctis flinched in unexpected pain and Ardyn made some comment about how delicate the skin of a young lord was—but he got the job done. Quickly, efficiently. Before Noctis had any time to even think of something to say in protest. He wiped between Noctis’s legs as well, showing him how to clean up after a night spent in another man’s arms. 

That part should have been…embarrassing. Noctis blushed a bit when he realized that Ardyn was still looking at him, watching his body with quiet appreciation. 

“There’s a good boy,” Ardyn hummed when Noctis was clean and ostensibly empty of any manly fluids.

“Tch.” Noctis looked away. 

He didn’t think about what time it was. He didn’t think about the sun that was already up. Nor the friend he had left behind in the park, or the anxious servants waiting for him at home. No. In fact, what Noctis wanted to do was crawl back into bed with Ardyn. Now that he was clean, Noctis’s body felt soft and pliable. His skin was already hungry for more touching. Ardyn’s bare body was delicious looking, Noctis thought, and he wanted to curl up against it. 

Also he was getting a little sleepy.

In a rush of movement, Ardyn toweled Noctis dry and began fitting the young man into some spare clothes. Men’s clothes. A buttoned down shirt, some pantaloons, and a pair of trousers. He dressed Noctis the same way one would dress a small child, one arm at a time. Buttoning him up. Then one leg at a time. The clothes were baggy; the shirt hung off of Noctis and Ardyn needed to wrap a belt around Noctis’s waist as tight as he could to keep the pants from falling down. But they would do.

“Here.” Ardyn handed over the socks and boots Noctis had worn, gesturing for him to put them on.

Noctis rubbed his eye with one hand, confused. He looked over at Ardyn, wondering why they were not in bed again. Didn’t Ardyn want to fuck him one more time? One more meaning…infinitely more? He glanced between the older man’s legs to see if he was hard for him again (he _had_ to be, right? After that bath?), but Ardyn turned around before Noctis could see. He stepped into his own pair of pants and gave his guest his back.

Bleary-eyed, Noctis noticed another tattoo on the older man’s back. Between his shoulder blades, there was a heavy black anchor. So, make that four tattoos in all. Or were there more somewhere else on his body…?

“I suppose I’ll keep this here with me,” Ardyn said, staring wistfully at the discarded purple dress, hoop skirt, and other female accoutrements Noctis had worn yesterday. When he looked back at Noctis, his face was bright with satisfaction. “It’ll be a nice reminder of our time together.”

Then his face immediately fell when he saw that Noctis was laying back down on the bed, nearly asleep.

Clicking his tongue and shaking his head (but still smiling) Ardyn got down on his knees and put Noctis’s socks on for him. He rolled the socks all the way up, strangely considerate even though he was clearly in a hurry. 

“Really, Noct,” chided Ardyn. “I feel that you’re doing this intentionally, now. Can’t you get dressed by yourself?”

Dazed, head rolling around on his neck, Noctis told the truth. “Not really.”

After all, Noctis had been raised with the constant assistance of a valet. Every morning when he rose, someone (usually Ignis) was there to help him get dressed. Not that Noctis didn’t know how it worked, putting on pants and a shirt and all that, but it wasn’t natural for him either. If he was going to do it, he needed to actually think about it. So, now wasn’t a good time.

Saying nothing, Ardyn slid the shoes onto Noctis’s feet. He made to stand up. “I’ll leave you to lace these, shall I?”

“Umm, yeah, I…can…” Noctis was pretty sure he knew how to lace boots? In theory, how hard could it be? (Not that he’d ever actually done it before.) “Just give me a minute…” He flopped back down on the bed.

Whatever. Noctis couldn’t think about stupid things like lacing his own boots right now. His head was spinning and he needed at least an hour of sleep. His body was so drained. And weirdly cold? He wished that Ardyn would stop rushing around and just lay down next to him already. Why wasn’t he? 

Without thinking, Noctis lifted his arms and beckoned Ardyn closer to him. As soon as Ardyn saw him like this, he would definitely take Noctis in his arms and carry him sweetly back to bed. That was exactly what Noctis wanted. Yes, just a little more…

Then he must have fallen asleep. Because when he came to, his boots were laced and he was sitting on the settee in Ardyn’s foyer. He noticed the man he’d spent several hours underneath standing, fully dressed, by the front door. 

“Umm, so….?” The young lord didn’t know what else to say. Most other words were beyond him, anyway.

Aware that his guest was suddenly awake, Ardyn turned to Noctis with a gentle, distantly pleased expression. “I’ve asked Mr. Ulldor to call you a hansom cab.” 

“What?” Noctis forced himself to stand. The clothes were loose, but at least his shoes felt normal. “Can’t I just take your carriage?” 

A smile flashed across Ardyn’s face. “You could, certainly, if I owned one. Be that as it may, I do not. So. Hansom it is.” 

Of course Noctis had seen hansom cabs before, the strange sort of two-wheeled carriages that crawled all over London and served as quick public transportation. A new invention, but all the rage now. Cheap. Convenient. Even though Noctis had never taken one himself. He had his own driver at home, so what was the need? 

The front door opened and the off-putting butler from the night before stood in the doorway. He turned to the side, revealing a hansom waiting near the gate.

“Thank you, Mr. Ulldor,” Ardyn said sweetly. Giving no reply, the butler dismissed himself. 

Now that they were alone, a sense of undue awkwardness settled over both of them. The reality of morning was not nothing. Many things had happened the night before. Several of them flashing through Noctis’s mind as they stood.

Heedless of that, Ardyn pulled Noctis into an embrace. He grabbed the young man by the chin and kissed him on the lips—not fully, no tongue, far too quick for anything Noctis had been craving. Still, the contact loosened Noctis’s body and he returned the kiss and the embrace, wrapping his arms around Ardyn’s neck.

Then the older man whispered softly in his ear, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss Caelum.” 

There it was. Noctis might have been smiling—fuck, yeah he was smiling. He just liked the way that name sounded, especially coming from Ardyn’s lips…

But the moment ended too soon. Breaking their contact prematurely—enough to make Noctis mewl in indignation—Ardyn pushed Noctis out the door. 

“Now, off with you! Come, come. In the hansom you go.” He shuffled Noctis across the meager front grounds of his townhouse, sweeping him into the tiny cab.

“Why do I…have to go…?” Noctis said. He was confused and vaguely hurt. Ardyn had closed the door between them. The distance carried a muted sting of rejection. There should have been more of that bitter feeling, but it was quickly replaced by surliness.And tiredness.

“Won’t your family be missing you, Noct?” Ardyn tutted. “Besides, I think it’s best to keep these spur of the moment arrangements to a limit of one night. Don’t you agree?”

“But…”

“Give the kind sir your address, Noct.” Ardyn was smiling, but his face left little room for argument.

Frazzled, Noctis quietly rattled off his address. If Ardyn was going to be like that, then fine! At least now Noctis could get some shut eye without anyone bothering him. His own bed sounded like a great idea.

Meanwhile, the hansom driver fiddled with the brim of his hat in exasperation. “Ain’t that the Caelum house? The Citadel? We goin’ there?” 

“So it would seem, my good man.” Fishing in his pockets for a half shilling, Ardyn paid the driver in advance. “See that my friend gets there post haste, and in good condition.” 

“You got it, sir!” With renewed vigor, the cabby clapped the reins and spurred the horse into action. He had just earned his morning’s wages and a decent lunch on top of it. 

Leaning his head back against the rough leather of the cab, Noctis closed his eyes and told himself to forget about Ardyn. Good thing that old man didn’t want to fuck right now, because Noctis wasn’t in the mood for it, anyway! His ass was already sore. Probably would hurt like a bitch in an hour or so. Good riddance, then. 

Pushing away all thoughts of a warm, male body pressed against his own, Noctis gave into his exhaustion and let the hansom rock him to sleep.

_____________________________________________

_Chiswick  
_ _26 October, 1856  
_ _Tuesday - Morning_

Dawn broke over the servants’ quarters at the Caelum estate with a particular kind of grimness. Ignis and Prompto sat around the kitchen table with faces as grey as cobblestone. The maids were already up, as were the cooks. Going about the business of starting the day. Everyone moved around the two servants who had been up all night as if they weren’t even there. A few people made comments that were not answered. So that was the end of it.

“It’s 7:00, Iggy…” Prompto said in a low, froggy voice. Barely sounding like himself. “What do we do?”

Ignis let out a long breath with the last of his hope. At this rate, Noctis had been killed or worse. When the truth came out, no doubt Lord Regis would throw Ignis out into the street for assisting in this depravity. It was his right. Beyond that, Ignis and Gladiolus would certainly never work again. No one would hire servants with a story like this on their heads. So they would face destitution, undoubtedly. Prompto would be in the line of fire as well. Lord Regis might very well bring legal charges against him if he didn’t believe his story…

Well then. If Ignis was going down, he would go down with dignity. Dusting off his immaculate shirt, the valet rose to his feet, inciting Prompto to do the same.

“We go to the police,” Ignis announced. His shoulders were perfectly square, his face resolute. “Tell them everything.” 

Realizing this meant all hope was lost, Prompto whimpered in defeat. But he knew in his heart it was the right thing to do. Whatever had happened to Noctis last night, they owed it to his family to let the truth come out.

“Oi! That a hansom comin’ up? Who’s that? My—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—Master Caelum!” 

As soon as the words reached their ears, Prompto and Ignis scrambled over chairs, across the hallway, and out the servant’s door. They got outside just in time to see Noctis stumbling awkwardly across the grounds, a hansom merrily rolling away (job done).

“Noct!” Ignis cried, forgetting himself. 

They rushed to meet him. By God, it was a miracle! Here was Noctis Caelum himself, his black hair a mess, wearing clothes that were clearly not his own (and most certainly not the clothes he had left in, which were nowhere in sigh). Barely able to stand on his feet, dark circles under his eyes. In need of a good rest.

But alive! And unharmed, from the looks of it. Especially from the placid, matter-of-fact smile on his face. The same one Noctis wore when he had proven himself in some way.

“Hey, guys,” Noctis half-saluted them wearily. Arrogant, but miles away from his usual fare. “What’s up?”

“Noct, holy shit, buddy…” Prompto was in tears. He wrapped Noctis in a sloppy hug, apologizing over and over. 

Ignis was giddy with relief. However! His job was not done. Noctis was standing outside in nothing but a threadbare shit and pants—a scandal in and of itself! He might as well be standing there naked, for god’s sake. 

Yanking Prompto’s ill-fitting frock coat from Prompto’s own shoulders, Ignis covered Noctis’s back with the coat and quickly escorted him inside. Needless to say, the servants they passed on the way were appalled. 

“Shall I fetch a doctor, Mr. Scientia?” a maid asked.

“No, no, he’s alright.” Ignis deftly took Noctis’s temperature. Of course he noticed that Noctis winced when he forced the young master into a seat. It caught his eye, but Ignis filed it away for later.

“You there, boy!” He got the attention of a bootboy and gave some orders. “Go to Ravenscourt Park as fast as your feet will carry you. Fetch Mr. Ulric and Mr. Amicitia. Tell them he’s here and everything’s fine. Exactly that phrase. Understood?”

Shrinking under the intense gaze of the valet, the boy nodded with as much determination as he could. “Y-yes sir, Mr. Scientia!” 

“There’s a penny and a sweet bun in it for you if you move quickly. Alright?” 

“Yes sir!”

As the boy scurried away, Prompto gave Noctis another hug. “Oh man, I am so freaking happy to see you…” He noted that Noctis smelled…different. Like soap, but not the soap he usually used. “…Did you take a bath?”

“Umm, yeah I did.” Noctis rested his head down on the servant’s kitchen table. It was hardly the first time. The cook shoved some kippers and coffee in front of the young lord’s face.

“O…k…?” Prompto glanced back at Ignis.

The valet forced the mug of coffee into Noctis’s hand. Something to bring his deflated master back to life. His stoic gaze was laced with concern. “Noct, where were you?” 

“I was…” Noctis raised his head long enough to take a sip. It took him a moment to remember exactly where he had been, geographically speaking. “…in Kingston Upon Thames, I think.”

“Kingston Upon Thames?!” Ignis rose to his feet at the name, miles upon miles away from anywhere they had tried to look. “What on earth were you doing there?”

Now that Noctis had gotten a good rest in the hansom, as well as some fresh coffee in his system, he was feeling a little more awake. Unfortunately, with that, came the acknowledgement of myriad bruises and aching muscles all over his body. His hips hurt from bending. His thighs, from spreading. There was a tingly place on his chest where Ardyn had sucked on his skin particularly hard…

So. What to tell Ignis and Prompto. This one might take a while.

While he thought of something, Noctis shrugged and said, “I met this guy in the park. We were…talking.” 

Storm clouds gathered on Ignis’s face. “…I see.” 

Truth be told, Ignis had already put the rest of the pieces together. It wasn’t a difficult picture, after all. He had known Noctis for his entire life. This realization was not a surprise so much as it was…a harsh slap of reality. From the moment Noctis came to him asking to wear a dress, Ignis had imagined his charge might start…experimenting with a broad range of tastes. (Even before Noctis asked, really. Long before.) He’d just thought they had more than a day to prepare for it!

Still, he needed details. “This ‘guy.’ Who was he?”

Noctis took a bite of the kippers. “Something…Izunia, I think?” Of course he knew the name perfectly well. But the family name was all that mattered. 

No reason to act like he and Ardyn were suddenly ‘close’ or something. They weren’t. It was a limit of one night, wasn’t it? That’s what Ardyn said.

“Izunia?” Ignis frowned and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve never heard of that name. Where in Kingston Upon Thames did he take you?” 

Noctis scratched his head as he tried to remember the address. But he didn’t know. Not only that, he didn’t even know the street name, nor the general area at all! He just knew that Ardyn had said the words ‘Kingston Upon Thames’ when he referred to his house. 

And wait. Wasn’t there something else? Didn’t the house have a name? Noctis thought hard and tried to remember, but for some reason all he could think of was how unreasonably attractive Ardyn had looked opening the gate to his grounds.

“…Not sure,” Noctis admitted. He went back to his breakfast. “But, it was fine. I mean, I’m fine. It was a fun night.” 

Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his sore eyes. 

“Fun…? “Prompto looked completely lost. “Dude, what happened? You went with this guy, where to his house?”

“Yup.” 

The look on Prompto’s face made Noctis suddenly want to brag about his experience. Really, why hide the truth? These guys were his closest friends in the world, for one. Also, Noctis knew he had just done something extremely dangerous and lived to tell the tale. Getting boned at a stranger’s house after a day spent traipsing around as a woman was…well, it was something, anyway. A good story at least! It had to be, right?

“And then what?!” Prompto’s eyes bulged, his hands waving animatedly. “You were gone the whole night, man! What did you do at his place?”

Huffing a kind of laugh, Noctis took another sip of coffee. He eyed Prompto over the rim of his mug. “…Can’t figure that out, Prom?”

Slowly, very slowly, Prompto came to the right conclusion. His hands dropped, face going slack, partially in disbelief and partially because he could barely stand the idea of Noctis actually enjoying himself—doing _that_ with a _man_ in a _dress_ while they were going crazy looking for him—

Prompto shook his head, immediately blocking out any further thoughts. He couldaccept the truth, but he didn’t need to think about it too hard.

“Enough.” Ignis had caught the sideways glances from the rest of the kitchen staff, even if Noctis hadn’t. He wasn’t worried—they knew better than to say anything about the master’s affairs, no matter how shameful and scandalous—but there was no need to reveal any more here. “Finish your breakfast, so you can get changed into some proper clothing.” 

Noctis yawned and stretched. Hell, even his joints ached. Not to mention his balls. He had completely wrung himself dry with Ardyn. It was a weird feeling. Too weird, almost. There was a deep…space in the back of him, too. Something that had not been there before.

“Actually, I’m going back to bed,” the young master announced, rising gingerly to his feet. “Need a couple more hours.”

Ignis rose as well. “….as you wish, sir. I’ll inform his lordship that you’ll be taking the morning to yourself.” 

“Thanks. Night, guys. Oh, and thanks for the help and…everything.” Noctis began shuffling towards the stairs in the direction of his rooms. Then he remembered something and turned around towards Prompto. “Hey Prom, stick around, yeah? I want to hear how your night went too.” 

Slightly intrigued, Ignis spared a glance in the blond’s direction. A flush fo color rose to Prompto’s cheeks.

“My night?” Prompto said under his breath when Noctis gone. 

He wasn’t angry—he was far too relieved and way too exhausted to be angry. Instead, the question itself was almost hilarious. Prompto had been through hell last night! After, of course, a rather not-hellish experience at Cindy’s house. In that, it had been one of the best nights of his life. And there was a chance of a repeat, because Cindy was holding onto his top hat for him. She liked it. A lot, apparently. 

Prompto broke into a giddy laugh. He slumped in his chair and tried to figure out what exactly had just happened in the span of only a night.

“You’d best take your breakfast down here, Mr. Argentum,” Ignis said. All business now, as was proper for a man of his station. “Rather than upstairs with His Lordship.” 

“…Right.” No way Prompto was ready to face Regis right now. Not after everything that had happened. And everything Prompto was rapidly willing himself to forget about Noctis (Regis’s son, jeez…).

On cue, the cooks laid out a plate of sausage and eggs for Prompto. Quietly, surreptitiously. Just there when Prompto was ready to eat it.

After a while, Gladiolus and Nyx came barging in though the servants’ entrance. “Where is he?” bellowed Gladiolus. “I’m gonna kill him! That little…piece of…”

“Gladio!” Ignis called from the kitchen, trying to stop his friend from uttering any more words of treason. 

Nyx was already sauntering in, asking for his own breakfast—which the nearby maids were happy to provide (Nyx the driver was something of a downstairs favorite). The cook—a dowdy woman in taffeta—made some joke about how Nyx always arrived at the right time. Something about a hero’s entrance every time he walked into a room. The staff chuckled at it. 

Prompto did too, but only because he realized something he had forgotten entirely about last night.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a giggle, looking at Ignis with a dopey grin. “I just remembered.”

“What’s that?” Ignis asked, one hand on his hip. 

Prompto plopped his head back down on the table, rattling Nyx’s bowl of oats and honey. “Yesterday was my birthday.”

“Oh, hey.” Munching on his breakfast, Nyx regarded Prompto with a sly grin. His most common expression. “Happy birthday, kiddo.” 

“…Thanks.” 


	2. The rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question is, how should Noctis feel about all this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) This is the chapter where everyone needs to process what just happened lol.
> 
> *TW* for references to persecution of homosexual behavior. True to history. (it's not great)

**Chapter Two: The rejection**

_Chiswick_  
_10 November, 1856  
_ _Wednesday - Morning_

Noctis laid in bed, forcing his eyes closed. Trying to squeeze out the light infringing on his bedrest. Damn, dawn already. A notoriously unashamed late riser, Noctis rarely ever saw first light from his bed. Usually if he was awake to watch the dawn, it meant he had been out the night beforehand.

That was not the case this time. Instead of going out and enjoying himself, Noctis had been in bed at the stroke of 9:00. In the _evening_ time. ‘Uncommonly exhausted’ (or at least that’s the reason he gave Ignis and the rest of the household). Ignoring all the raised eyebrows, Noctis marched himself into bed and began the torturous business of tossing and turning the entire night.

So lame. Fucking frustrating too. Now Noctis would be tired for the rest of the day…

He cracked one eye open and was met with a glare of sunlight that managed to creep past the drapery at that exact second. Because of _course_ it would. Snarling, Noctis threw a pillow over his head.

It had been over two weeks. Since. (He didn’t need to elaborate in his own mind since ‘what’ exactly. That much was obvious.) 

At first, things went exactly as Noctis imagined they would. He spent a full day recovering from his marathon go-around with that strange Izunia gentleman—indeed recovering from the whole affair, including his whirlwind masquerade as the fairer sex. He slept for almost twelve straight hours, wasting the entire day and most of the evening on top of it. When he finally roused himself, it was only to take some light supper in bed, nothing more. 

The following day, Ignis demanded Noctis greet the daylight like a normal person. They quarreled over it—as much as quarreling with Ignis mattered or was even really a thing. Mr. Scientia was well-known to have an iron will, leading some to wonder who was really the 'master' between him and the young lord. I n the end, Noctis rose anyway to carry on with his regular affairs. 

Prompto stayed over for a few more days, as requested. (A normal thing; the Argentum lad was a common guest in the Caelum household.) It was a godsend. Prompto provided a nice buffer between Regis and Noctis. He always had, but this was a particularly necessary time to ease the discomfort trailing at the end of every conversation. 

There was nothing quite like staring your own father in the face after a night spent pinned on all fours beneath a man of similar age and stature. Not to mention the…dress thing. Part of Noctis had been afraid, for a single moment right when Regis’s steely grey eyes met his own during that first fatal breakfast, that Regis had somehow found out about his galavanting. Usually Regis…knew. His Lordship had many eyes and ears around the estate, and around London as a whole. When Noctis caused a ruckus somewhere public, Regis heard. He took the position of speaking sparingly but implying quite a lot in regards to those matters. Although he said very little to Noctis’s face, the tone of their conversations became stilted, a bit heavier on the suggestions of “dear Richard over at Eton tells me the riding club has had another wonderful season this year.” 

God only knew how much Regis wanted Noctis to spend a few semesters over in Winchester, just far enough out of London. He was endlessly dropping hints regarding some small detail about Eton (or Cambridge, the two colleges Regis had reliable connections with) he thought might at last persuade his son to take him up on the offer.

In truth, Regis Caelum was every bit a perfect gentleman. The fine, upstanding specimen of the nobility people believed him to be. Regis was proper. Regis was coolheaded and polite. He comported himself well at parties, and in the House of Lords, where he was more than just a nominal member these days. He had many friends, even more acquaintances, and people who would swear they knew Regis well after just an evening spent in his company—for any increase in social standing that might bring, or for the simple fact that Regis exuded a kind of warm familiarity with people in a short span of time. It was his nature, and his charge, in a way. He had been raised among dukes, after all; was first cousin to Alexander Duff, the Viscount Himself. So he was really only two steps away from actual royalty. That _meant_ something.

When it came to Noctis, Regis took care to dote on him the exact amount a father should. No more, no less. That is to say, Regis raised Noctis warmly—a childhood of which Noctis had many fond memories—but when his son reached a certain age (somewhere around twelve or thirteen), Regis cut the apron strings a bit. He spent more time away, in the House of Lords, more hours attending to the endless matters of the estate. He delved less into Noctis’s affairs. Expected his son to be more naturally aware of the shouldn’ts and shoulds of their gentlemanly life. Especially considering that Noctis—as the sole heir to the Caelum name—would need to run the estate himself some day. So Regis withheld the nods of understanding and boundless acceptance Noctis had gotten used to growing up. He showed his son the colder side of his affections, in hopes that Noctis would grow up the better for it. 

Who could fault him for that? It was what a father must do with a son. A boy couldn’t grow into a man being forever coddled by the patriarch in his life. It was unfortunate that Noctis’s mother passed away early. Normally a mother took the consoler’s job, giving her son a set of welcoming arms well into adulthood, if she pleased. There was something about mothers and sons, wasn’t there? But that was hardly Regis’s fault. Just because Noctis had lost one side of his parentage did not mean that Regis should show him any kind of special treatment. 

All boys needed to grow up sometime. 

However, as Noctis matured, it became clear that the path to respectable adulthood would not be…easy. Far, far from it. That much was plain to everyone in the Empire—including Regis. In some ways, because he was used to seeing the shortcomings in those closest to him first, as was his _noblesse oblige_ , Regis knew better than anyone.

But he never mentioned the matter to Noctis unless he absolutely had to. There were only a handful of serious accusations and punishments, threats of shipping him off to the service if Noctis couldn’t get his act together. Hushed and private, only half serious, but enough. (Even if Noctis entered the army with substantial rank, one generally wanted to be as far away from Crimea as possible, so the papers said.) Regis tried to save that particular piece of leverage for times when Noctis had run-ins with the law.

Instead, Regis chose not to address the majority of his son’s misadventures. He waved it away officially if he had to, but he did not need to speak of bar fights and clubhouse rumors. It was ungentlemanly. Not becoming of their station. Regis hoped that by refusing to acknowledge his son’s ploys altogether, the thrill would wear off and the shame would kick in. It was a much better idea to just let the weight of everything Noctis did stew underneath the surface of their interactions. Giving hidden meanings to all that they shared.

This time however—the morning after Noctis recovered from a night of gender bending and sodomy—Regis seemed to be none-the-wiser. He greeted Noctis warmly. No discussion of Eton. Just a comment about how the weather was unseasonably warm. Had Noctis gotten the chance to attend the final regatta of the little Season like he wanted? Trifling matters.

Did Regis really not know? Or was he employing some type of impossible long con? Gearing up to give Noctis the most stifling treatment to date—something really…Crimea even…

But no. Regis just smiled distantly. Read the morning paper.

“Something the matter, Noct?” his father asked politely when he caught Noctis’s curious stare.

Prompto nearly choked on his buttered biscuit. Loudly, because yeah. Prompto. And all that.

But that was it! Nothing, for days! If anything, Regis was being decidedly more complacent than usual. Reminding Noctis of his meetings with the accountants and investment bankers—his sort “internship,” the tutelage and experience he would need to run the estate in the future. Perhaps the distant future. 

So Noctis came to the conclusion that Regis didn’t know. 

And really, why should he know? Noctis had been in disguise! Womanly disguise to boot, and a damn good one (thanks be to Ignis). No one had recognized him—not even Regis’s crawling runners and spies around town! All anyone had seen was a strange gentleman escorting an unnamed lady into a carriage. Hardly front page news!

It was _so_ perfect. Noctis got the chance to enjoy himself—tramped around town wearing what he damn well pleased, and had a night of sex depraved enough to make a whore blush—without any repercussions. 

Nice.

So, naturally, Noctis felt his oats for a bit once he realized he’d gotten off scot-free. This was a matter he could brag about—to Ignis, Gladiolus, and Prompto, at least. (Far too risky to reveal it to anyone else; besides they might not get the joke.) Yes, he apologized first for worrying them. Casually. Not quite understanding the dark depths his friends’ minds had gone to, the bad places they thought Noctis might be when he went missing. 

Then he spent the next few days swaggering around the estate, reminding his friends that he had successfully pulled it off. Whatever “it” was. (A prank? An act? Scratching an itch? What? Noctis never went that far when he brought up the subject. Just referred the experience as “it.”)

For the first day or so, Prompto laughed along with him. He was first and foremost infinitely relieved to have Noctis returned safely. And yeah, Prompto supposed, it was kind of cool that his friend had managed to do something pretty fucking dangerous and get away with it. If playing with your life was your kind of thing. Which maybe it was to Noctis. 

But then Noctis got into the habit of contemplating the idea (out loud) that he could romance people on both sides of the fence. Not just women—meaning, the occasional barmaid and casual acquaintance, the sum of Noctis’s sexual history before this—but apparently men as well. An older man, nonetheless. And a good-looking one.

There, Prompto had to draw the line.

They were standing near the stables. Noctis had just taken his favorite horse—Quartz, a grey stallion with white flecks along his rump that had been the young master’s most reliable riding horse for more than a decade—for a quick trot around the grounds. Prompto had ridden Chocolina—his favorite of Noctis’s, a buckskin mare with a blond main—at his friend’s behest. There was enough space in the back of the estate to go round a few times, but it wasn’t real riding. Prompto saw the invitation for what it was: A chance to reminisce somewhere they would not be overheard.

“I’m just saying, Prom,” Noctis began as he gave Quartz his post-ride brush down. “It’s kind of weird. Like, next time we go to a party I’m going to have to think about it, you know? Do you think some of the guys there will be checking me out too?”

“…Don’t know, dude,” Prompto replied. He focused on Chocolina’s mane, combing the coarse yellow hair through his fingers with unnecessary attention.

Noctis frowned. Legitimately thoughtful. “Do you think they can like…tell? That I’ve been with another man, I mean.” 

Prompto sighed, not answering. Actually, he wondered the same thing, but he didn’t want to admit that to Noctis. He was really trying not to encourage anything to do with this line of thinking. 

It was too dangerous. 

Normally, Prompto had a bad habit of encouraging his friend’s misbehavior. They were partners in crime for a fair number of follies. But for this, Prompto actually had a pretty level head about the reality of the situation, while Noctis seemed to have his head in the clouds (and, on another dude’s dick, it seemed, for whatever reason). Number one, relations between two men were illegal. Punishable by hanging, no less! It was 1856 and they weren’t in some fantasy land where one could conduct themselves however they wanted in the bedroom. Not that Noctis cared about any of that, of course. He generally saw himself as above the law. And if it ever came to it, probably yes, Regis’s influence might be able to save Noctis from capital punishment for sodomy. But still. That didn’t make it right, or safe.

Number two, from the way Noctis was talking, it sounded like he wanted to make a habit of this. Sex with men. That was a terrible idea! Every time he did it, he would be risking discovery and prosecution. Beyond that, if Noctis kept going with this…where would it take him? To the molly houses for anonymous sex with any man who showed interest? To his death in the back alley of a brothel, messing with the wrong guy? Or ridden with some disease? Well…nowhere good, that’s for sure!

Number three, Noctis needed to remember who exactly he was. It was one thing for a commoner to run around turning tricks with whomever under cover of night. But Noct was _Noct._ If people found out, the gossip alone could be his ruin. And the ruin of the Caelum house along with him.

And, finally, number four. The whole idea gave Prompto a bad feeling. Fucking around with other men just wasn’t _normal_ (there was a reason shit like that was illegal, right?). And who knew what this guy Izunia, and other men like him, really wanted from Noctis? He—they—couldn’t have good intentions.

For the time being, Prompto listened to his friend and kept all these thoughts to himself.

“Not saying that I want to actually _do_ anything with another guy,” Noctis asserted. His eyes were on Quartz, but his thoughts were fairly far away. “But…you know. I guess I probably could.” 

“Uh, maybe.” Time to change the subject! “Hey, did you hear what Nyx said to that kitchen maid with the curly hair the other day? It was hilarious, she thought so too—”

But Noctis wasn’t interested in kitchen maids. Or Nyx and his antics, quite frankly. Noctis knew enough to recognize that he had done something outside the norm the other night by sleeping with Ardyn. And he was honestly—legitimately—curious about what it meant. Now that he’d gotten away with it, where did it leave him in terms of the rest of his sex life? Could he go back to the way he was, or was he changed?

So, he interrupted Prompto with, “And I mean, yeah, if I did…it wouldn’t be a big deal, right? Like maybe I _should_ go fuck another guy just to see if it compares. Might be fun, or not. Who knows? But I should probably try it just in case—”

“Noct.” 

Hearing Prompto say his name—even his nickname—like that, serious and low, made Noctis turn around with a frown. Prompto rarely ever stopped playing around. Especially when they were talking about stuff like this.

But his friend’s freckled, dapper face was not smiling right now. “That’s not a good idea.” 

Noctis’s frown deepened. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard those words out of Prompto’s mouth before. Putting one hand on his hip, immediately defiant, he shot back, “Why not?”

“Think about it.” Prompto looked away, eyes distant and clouded. “You got away with it this time. You…we were lucky, okay? But if you do it again…” He shook his head dismally. “…and if you _keep_ doing it…someone’s gonna find out.”

Making a sour, incredulous face, Noctis shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly. “Who cares if someone finds out? I’m used to shitty gossip, Prom, it’s been following me around my whole life—”

“This is more than that. Don’t you get it?” Eyes going wide, Prompto ran a hand through his hair. “What you’re talking about is a _crime_ , okay? Like, a serious one. If people find out, it’s going to be all over town in about fifteen seconds and then everyone—and I mean _everyone_ —is going to know.” 

His face softened by a hair. “…Do you really want that?”

The thought occurred to Noctis for the first time. People staring at him. Mocking him behind his back, or even openly to his face. Sniggering. Calling him this or that. Making trouble for him every time he walked into a clubhouse or public space. Or telling his father, and then Regis having to deal with it…his father wouldn’t understand. Regis only understood things that fit into neat rows—geometric, orderly facts of life that were compatible with what a proper Lord should do. He wouldn’t be able to protect Noctis from the images in people’s heads: Everyone in town, picturing Noctis naked on all fours and taking it from the back. Face twisted in pleasure, shaking his hips like a whore, begging for more. No longer the bright-eyed ne’er-do-well, but an abomination—

Then again. Noctis’s hands tightened around the idle leather reigns in his hand as he remembered. In school, there were some people who made trouble for him. Even then, for barely any reason. Because of the way he walked, of all things. The one part of his life he couldn’t help! After the accident that killed his mother, Noctis’s spine was all fucked up. He had to relearn how to walk from the beginning. For a while he even needed a wheelchair—but his father had the sense to keep him home during that time. Then, when he could stand on his own two legs again, he went back to school. A high end private school in Chelsea, same place Regis had gotten his elementary education. But although he could manage to walk, Noctis still needed a cane to help him. His legs bowed a bit and he dealt with a lot of pain, making him hobble. He was much slower than the rest of the boys. Got excused from physical education requirements, including the dreaded five-mile-run. Not to mention, he was excluded from the boxing classes where boys his age proved their mettle.

He stood out.

They called him “Dickensy,” because of the cane (like the Charles Dickens character in that Christmas story). Even after he stopped using it. Or they called him “Fish Boy” because Noctis used his extra time being absent from physical education classes teaching himself how to fish. Damn good at it, but no one cared. “Fish face.” “Oliver Tuna.” Blah blah blah.

Stupid names. Really childish and petty. But they stuck. They followed Noctis through the halls of every school he attended, right up until he graduated. Some boys took it a step further by putting fish in his writing desk and leaving them to rot overnight. So the smell lingered until he cleaned it up himself…

He could have told an adult about all the teasing. But that would have been giving in. Instead, Noctis took on the habit of doing dumb stuff. He watched all the boxing classes, even if he couldn’t participate, and asked Gladiolus teach him how to fight. Challenged guys to bar fights just to show he could hold his own. Stayed out getting sloshed until the early hours. Gambled in card houses. Won. Lost. Tried his luck again. Never shied away from a hand or a trick.

Though nothing would change the solitary, isolated nature of his schooling years. Nor indeed the rumors that followed him now. (“Lord Regis has to deal with that lout?” “What will become of the estate, do you think, when Regis passes? Go to ruin, I expect, with that boy in charge.”) 

So Prompto was telling him not to risk his reputation. But who the hell cared about a reputation? Noctis basically lost his the moment that carriage overturned and made him a laughing stock, and that wasn’t even his fault.

Rumors? Whispers? Big fucking deal. He’d been through it all before. 

He turned to Prompto with an angry look, trying to disguise his hurt (why didn’t Prompto get it?). “…You don’t think they’d bar me from the Civics Association, do you? If they found out I like sucking cock?” His face went soft and sarcastic. “Because I mean, all that letter writing to the hospitals in south Africa. I couldn’t live with myself if they left me out of it!”

Catching his friend’s meaning, Prompto rolled his eyes dramatically. He also smirked a bit in spite of himself (that was a pretty good burn, he would admit). 

“And arranging yearly dinners for Baron-fucking-whatever…that would kill me if they said I couldn't help…” Noctis put his hand on his heart, hamming it up. He felt a little better now that he saw Prompto smiling, giving in to him a little bit.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Prompto said, the wind out of his sails. “So you don’t care about reputation. Got it.”

The young Argentum sighed and shook his head. Being unconcerned about status was something only people with unshakeable standing could afford. That was one experience a middle-class accountant’s son would never truly know. A luxury.

Dismissing the thought, Prompto knocked his friend’s shoulder in camaraderie. A return to their usual. “Just be careful, okay? There’s things worse than a bad name, you know?” A noticeable shiver passed through the blond. “I don’t want to read about you going to the gallows anytime soon, hear me?”

Now that was just over the top! Noctis knew that was, _technically_ , true—people had been punished to the full extent of the law for doing exactly what he did with Ardyn that night. But that was so unlikely to happen in this case! They fucked in a house—a house with only a single servant. No eyes and ears for miles. 

Leave it to Prompto to be dramatic. 

Still irreverent, Noctis elbowed his friend in return. “Why, you don’t think it would be a good look for me? Rope around my neck? I think I could pull it off, actually—”

“Don’t even joke!” Prompto’s hair might have stood on end. “What the—that’s fucked up, man! Saying stuff like that…people have…ugh, jeez.” 

They packed up their riding equipment and returned to the house. Seemingly in regular spirits. The following day, Noctis bid Prompto farewell after his extended stay, as planned. They hugged and jabbed each other in the stomach playfully. 

But there was something slightly off. Prompto punched Noctis with a little less force than he normally would. Noctis laughed, but his smile did not quite reach his eyes. 

After that conversation, things were…different.

Noctis had gone to a place—literally and metaphorically—that Prompto would never dare go. It was weird for both of them. No matter how much Prompto cared about Noctis—which they both knew, and would never question, was a lot—it had become obvious: Prompto didn’t understand.

The sound of the morning bells (calls for servants, for the housekeeper, for valets) reached Noctis from where he lay, completely still, in bed. The day had already begun.

Fucking hell. Why did the Caelum household get up so early? Were all estates like this? Noctis really didn’t know. But probably.

He threw the pillow off his head, sending it carelessly to the floor, and stared at the ceiling. This room had been his boyhood room, too. He knew the ceiling by heart. It helped him think to see those familiar lines and wooden patterns…

…He supposed he couldn’t blame Prompto for being so cautious. As a friend, Prompto just wanted Noctis to stay safe. Not to go risking his neck for anything he didn’t have to.

And Noctis would admit, Prompto did have a point. About a few things. Like yeah, it probably wasn’t great to go to the gallows. Not a fun thing. He got that.

That aside, Noctis also knew that being attracted to guys—wanting to sleep with guys—wasn’t normal. He’d known that since the beginning, since before he even went home with Ardyn. He just hadn’t cared at the time, when Ardyn’s hands were all over Noctis’s body. Especially when his body was so damn sensitive, and Ardyn’s hands knew exactly where to touch. How to do it. How to make it feel so good Noctis’s vision went blurry. 

Before that, Noctis never imagined he would be in a situation like this. Dealing with the aftermath of an affair with another man. Left with the memories of what he’d done—some of which still shocked him, even now. Like going right for Ardyn’s cock the moment he suggested he do something in return? Or bending himself in half, like a practiced slut, to get his backside as close to Ardyn’s hips as he could…completely shameless. How had Noctis found it in himself to be so shameless? 

As the days wore on, embarrassment started to stalk Noctis’s thoughts when he remembered that night. He’d given Ardyn everything. Every inch of himself. And gladly! Like a virgin on her wedding night…

Of course, he knew why he had done it. As the embarrassment worsened, Noctis tried not to think about it. But he knew. That particular truth he would always have to live with, even if he kept it locked in his soul. 

Because it felt good. 

Such a simple reason, but that was really it. Being with Ardyn—even before the sex, letting that man kiss him and touch him—was better than anything Noctis had felt before. It made the blood in his veins turn to fire. Every beat of his heart driving him madder and madder. Not just wanting Ardyn, but _needing_ him. From the inside out. Especially as the night wore on and all Noctis’s defenses vanished into thin air. Walls down, Noctis was left with nothing but his own desire. A kind of hunger that made the rest of his body forget what it was for. He just needed to be fucked, again and again. He needed Ardyn.

Noctis had never known what it felt like to need another person. 

Now he knew. And it wasn’t great. 

Yeah, that night in particular it had been great—a fact which he decided not to share with anyone else from now on. But days later? Not so much. 

The problem was, pleasure like that. Orgasm after orgasm. Release that made his balls feel like they were trying to turn inside out…Noctis’s body remembered that. How could it not? The floaty feeling of being completely satisfied. Losing himself, ecstatic to be lost. 

But satisfaction did not last forever. Once it was gone, Noctis found himself hungry again. And not for just anything—he wanted that. That particular indulgence. The one thing he could probably never get again: Sex with Ardyn. 

He more or less dismissed the idea of sleeping with other men. Prompto was right on that front. It was too out of character for Noctis. Not to mention, Noctis had the feeling that after a night like that, anyone other than Ardyn would come in poor second. So what was the point.

Yet, it left him with nothing. Noctis’s body knew what it wanted. Regular masturbation didn’t feel as good anymore. He tried to work himself with his right hand like he used to—it always worked in the past. Now, he tired out the muscles in his arm before he even gave himself the shivers. No gasping, no writhing around on the silky soft feather bed. Definitely couldn’t get himself off using just his hands. Noctis would get all riled up with memories of that night, and have no way to relieve himself.

It was like he had been given a taste of heaven only to spend the rest of his life crawling around on earth with the rest of the mortals. A cruel fate.

The frustration was starting to build. Noctis thought that after a while, he would get desperate enough that his usual hands-only routine would be enough. If he stopped touching himself for a few days, probably. After days of complete celibacy, not even thinking about sex, Noctis brought himself to a full hard-on. To the point where he felt some liquid pool around the tip of his cock. And _yet_. He could not _quite_ push himself over the edge. 

It wasn’t enough. 

A memory of Ardyn’s miraculously unflagging dick would spring to his mind and Noctis would feel a gnawing emptiness. Sometimes, he was certain his hitherto for untouched opening twitched in excitement. He could feel the muscles in that shameful part of his body gasping. Clenching around air. 

After days of desperation, Noctis finally gave in and fingered himself. He’d never done it before. It was awkward. He needed to use the hand lotion on his dresser as lubricant (there was nothing else he could think of) and it dissolved too quickly to be sufficient. When Noctis finally did get a finger inside himself, it was too dry and it hurt. He gave a valiant attempt—prodding, searching for that miraculous spot that made him howl—but it just…didn’t work right. He was too clumsy, too aware of the fact that he was sticking his fingers up his own ass. Maybe because he could feel the strange, soft inside parts…Noctis wasn’t sure.

But stimulation in _that_ part of himself wasn’t enough either. Nothing felt like it used to, or like it did that night. 

Utterly disappointed, Noctis had a horrifying thought: Had his night with Ardyn left him impotent? Could it….? 

Fuck!

Holy….no! Impossible! He couldn’t be impotent! He was only twenty-three years old! He’d only been with a handful people in his whole life! Was that why they said not to sleep with men, because it left you impotent afterwards? That was…so ridiculously unfair! He didn’t know that going in! Plus, he hadn’t even married yet or had kids! It was way too soon for him to lose the thing in life that gave him the greatest pleasure—

No, no. _No_. Noctis forced himself to breathe. Calm down. Just because he’d gone about a week with no luck jacking off didn’t mean he was going to be impotent the rest of his life. His body was still recovering. The memory was still too fresh. He just needed time. 

…Naturally, the idea occurred to him that he could go looking for Ardyn. He knew (basically) where the guy lived. Not the address, but. Kingston Upon Thames. It was only so big, right? He could probably find that house again. He remembered what it looked like.

Even though…Noctis bit his lip in anxiety. Turning up at that townhouse (the one with only a single manservant as staff, which could hardly even be considered middle-class) like a beggar. Pleading at the gate for some of Ardyn’s attention. After the older man made it perfectly clear that he did not want to continue their one night into an affair.

A limit, he’d said. Crystal clear. No mistaking him.

A rejection, basically. 

What kind of poor sod kept trying even after he was rejected? Worse than a fool. It was possibly criminal. Ardyn could report him for making unwanted advances—he wouldn’t, Noctis believed, but still. He could. No meant no.

And Noctis had never needed to properly beg for something. The thought of Ardyn’s hands…his deceitfully strong body. His golden eyes. That tongue. Every part of him, stroking Noctis. Sucking his nipples—oh god, they ached sometimes, too. Licking his neck. Noctis wanted it so bad he might be willing to try it out. 

_Asking_ , not begging.

…He got as far as having Nyx to drive him to Kingston Upon Thames. They made it halfway there before Noctis’s pride got the better of him and he told Nyx to turn back. Take him home, where he belonged. Trained not to ask questions, Nyx acquiesced without a word.

So he didn’t fully attempt to seek Ardyn out again. It was too…painful, yeah. Rejection hurt. After all, Ardyn certainly wasn’t looking for him. That meant Noctis was the only one hurting. Being the person clinging to a brief memory…that was something worse than ‘hurt.’ Noctis didn’t know what.

Fortunately, Noctis was nothing if not determined. At least when it came to sex and his own dick. Last night, Noctis went to bed early (9:00, for god’s sake) and told himself that no matter what happened, no matter what he had to do—even if it was something that would make the very angels weep—he would get himself off.

Thus began a nearly hour-long session of half-stands and self-groping. Noctis was tempted to give up, but he persevered. In the end, his dick practically rubbed raw, balls aching, Noctis finally, finally got there. And the release was…hardly a climax at all. A trickle of cum, nothing but a soft sigh escaping his lips. 

Unsatisfying to say the least.

Even so. Noctis sat up in bed, trying to fluff his own ego. At least he came! So there! His body still worked. He wasn’t impotent. He was totally fine. 

There was nothing wrong with him. He could come like any other guy. He was fine. He didn’t need Ardyn to get off. He didn’t need Ardyn at all. He didn’t even want him all that much.

He didn’t.

Really.

…It was just unfortunate about the lack of sleep. Noctis was learning to deal with insomnia on top of everything else. 

Shortly after he heard the morning bells, there was a knock at the door. Light, unobtrusive. Noctis knew immediately who it was. Same as every day.

“Come in.” He rubbed his eyes and tried to look refreshed.

Ignis let himself into Noctis’s bedroom with a small bow. Perfunctory rather than formal. He walked straight to Noctis’s dressing closet, glancing at his charge for only a moment. Unfortunately that was more than enough. Ignis could read Noctis with nothing but a flick of his eyes.

“Good morning, sir,” the valet chimed. He rifled through Noctis’s myriad waistcoats. “Did you sleep any better last night?” 

Of course Ignis knew the answer was no. This was his way of telling him, respectfully, that he knew.

“Yeah, a little…” Noctis grumbled, swinging his feet onto the cold floor. Showing he was ready for the day. And that he didn’t want to talk about his sleeping.

“Very good.” 

Saying nothing else, Ignis picked out a shirt and a pair of trousers. As well as a frock coat fit for breakfast. He laid all of Noctis’s garments on the bed, tacitly asking his master’s approval of the clothes. Noctis nodded without looking at them. They were fine. Who cared.

So began the half hour process of getting Noctis dressed. Their morning routine. Ignis could work his way around Noctis’s body with the barest, most efficient ministrations. As carefully as he would treat a china doll, but with the confident hand of a man who knows exactly what he is doing. Ignis was far and above one of the best valets in the business, although he served no one but Noctis. Loyalty too was an outstanding quality in a valet. Ignis had that in spades. A true gentleman’s gentleman. Adjusting Noctis’s cufflinks down to the millimeter. 

“The ebony today, again, sir?” Ignis asked, referring to the cufflinks. “If you won’t be needing anything more formal?”

Noctis’s mind was elsewhere. He always felt better when Ignis was around. The way Ignis could make him presentable even after one of the worst nights he’d ever had. Hell, one time Ignis sufficiently outfitted Noctis for a ball after the young master went on a three day bender. He’d returned without having come anywhere near a drop of water the entire time, but still Ignis made him look like a prince. The man could work magic.

Even though he rarely showed it, Noctis did not take Ignis for granted. He knew everything Ignis did for him. Bailing him out, making him look like he fit in where he so very clearly did not. (Outfitting him in a dress, for fuck’s sake, that time.) Listening when he needed to listen, saying just enough. Never overstepping but never (ever) letting Noctis down. 

In a way, Noctis knew that Ignis was his closest friend. He knew you weren’t supposed to be “friends” with the house staff; they were just doing a job after all. But Ignis was different. They’d been together for so long. They understood each other. In a way, “friends” didn’t even begin to cover what they were to one another. But…there was no other word, so. That’s it. 

“Sir?” 

Noctis had completely spaced out. He flinched when Ignis called to him, like he had been half asleep. 

“Uh, what? Sorry I was…um…yeah.” Noctis rubbed at his eye again, even though he sleeves were already done up.

Ignis watched him for a moment. Then, with a small sigh, he put a reassuring hand on his master’s shoulder. He leaned in a little closer. Most masters would have considered that overstepping, but between them it was not. To Noctis, that touch lifted his spirits just enough.

“I can make inquiries to the horticulturist in town, if you like. About some kind of sleeping aid.” Ignis spoke the words quietly, as if preserving Noctis’s dignity, even though it was just the two of them standing there. 

Breaking into a small smile, still miserable, Noctis shook his head. “No, thanks, Iggy. I’m good.” 

He didn’t think there was a plant in the entire world that could help whatever was wrong with him.

————-

At breakfast, Noctis and Regis sat together. The only two diners at a table that could easily accommodate eighteen or twenty people. Twenty-four if you folded it out to include the center leafs. It would have been lonely, if the two had not been living this way for over fifteen years. Footmen stood by the breakfast display, waiting to serve them when they approached. Another footman stood a few steps away holding a pot of coffee. Keeping an eye on the mugs for whenever the lord and his son might need a refill.

Regis sat at the head of the table reading a newspaper riddled with tiny print. Meanwhile, Noctis kept his head down and pushed the food around his plate. He was sulking, he knew, and that was immature. But. He was in a bleak sort of mood. He didn’t care about anything in particular today.

Quietly, Regis cleared his throat. A tiny, polite signal that he was about to try and start a conversation. Noctis prepared himself.

“I dare say the weather will be warm again today,” Lord Caelum announced. “Frankly unseasonable for this time of year.” 

Noctis just nodded his head. He knew that was rude. But really, how many conversations could you have about the weather? 

The crinkling of inked paper informed Noctis that his father was about to try again. This time putting the paper away. The Lord’s reflective eyes reached his son with dispassionate regard. There was a thin smile on his lips, the same that he wore for nearly ninety percent of the time he spent awake.

He took in Noctis’s general appearance. It might have been worrying, if Ignis had not done such a good job outfitting Noctis earlier. His attire was like a suit of armor, or at least he hoped. In reality, the stiffly starched collar was starting to itch around Noctis’s throat. The breeches were a little too tight in the inseam. Noctis had been gaining just a bit of weight loafing around the house. He felt uncomfortable, like the subject of a painting who does not wish to be looked at.

He had an image of violet muslin. Corsets and crinoline. Remembering that outfit—how it felt to put that on—made him feel minutely better. A small breath of fresh air. Something new, something that made him feel sparkly and good and _pretty_ —

“Shall we be seeing young Master Argentum today?” Regis asked, his head tilted to one side. He’d caught on to something, damn it. Regis only brought up the subject of Prompto when he noticed his son was down about something. “Haven’t seen him around lately, now that I think about it.” 

Prompto hadn’t been back to the estate since they’d had their…discussion. 

“Not sure,” Noctis said, trying to be discreet. “Maybe. He’s been busy lately, I think.” 

Regis’s lips twitched in amusement. “Busy with Miss Aurum, perhaps?” 

That shocked Noctis enough to forget about his funk for a moment. He stared at his father with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. 

“It’s rude to stare, Noct,” Regis remarked, wiping his mouth to hide a satisfied smirk. Making sure his son saw it anyway.

“…How did you know about her?” Noctis asked, shaking his head. It was legitimately entertaining how wily Regis could appear to be at times.

The Lord turned over his hand, indicating that Prompto courting Cindy had been an obvious fact for some time. “Well, it makes sense. He’s been talking about her since the two of you were in grade school. So it’s fair to say he’s waited long enough. And they’re a good match.”

He meant in regards to class as much as anything else. 

“Besides,” Regis continued. “It’s natural for a young man to…test the waters a bit. When he’s starting out. Drop a few hints here and there. See what comes up. I’m sure Cindy’s parents will do the rest, if they have the sense to see that Prompto is a fine man. Which I’m sure they do.” 

Not knowing what to say—all of that was true, after all—Noctis nodded his head in agreement. Really, he was happy for Prom about Cindy. He’d heard the whole story of their night together. It was a success (Prompto could thank him later for the suit). They were moving along. Which was great; Prompto deserved to be happy. And it was fun to think of a wedding where Noctis would most likely be the best man. Exciting. 

If…expected. 

“That’s the best way to go about it,” Regis stated proudly. “An acceptable courtship. Advantageous for everyone involved. And all done in a…timely manner.” 

The comment wouldn’t have caught Noctis’s attention except for the way Regis paused before he said “timely.” That hesitation stuck in Noctis’s head like a grain of sand in the eye.

Yes, of course. When Regis wasn’t on Noctis’s case about college he was on him for finding a wife. Damn. Wasn’t it a little early? Although they all knew the situation was dire. Regis had no other children and he was getting on in years. He did not want to leave his estate to a bachelor son that might piss away the fortune on nonsense. Much better to see his son settled. Just in case. 

But today of all days, Noctis really didn’t want to talk about that. So, he kept quiet. Not meeting his father’s eye. Letting the comment meet with nothing but dead silence—a statement in and of itself—Noctis drained his coffee cup and made to stand up.

“Why don’t you take Quartz to Hyde Park today?” Regis hurried to say. Catching his son just before the young man scurried away. “It might be your last chance for a ride on Rotten Row before the weather turns for good. Why not make the best of it?”

Rotten Row. The broad track in Hyde Park where a person might go for a leisurely ride on horseback in London. As long as they had the means to provide their own horse. A breath of nature, and a place to mingle with society. Noctis didn’t care for the mingling part so much, but he loved to ride horses. He was _good_ at it. Riding was the first technical sport he’d been able to do after the accident; sitting in a saddle wasn’t as rough on his legs. And it was good exercise for his back. He needed that kind of exertion to keep the muscles from locking up. 

Maybe that was a good idea. A final horse ride before winter. It would help cheer him up a bit. Maybe he could even stand some company today. He always felt more comfortable talking to people from the back of a horse.

Although, to his father, Noctis said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

Regis threw out one last suggestion. “Perhaps you could invite Master Argentum, and he might be inclined to invite Miss Aurum. A lovely day for a group ride, I think.”

“Mmm..” Noctis would have to think about that one. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Prompto. Bringing Cindy to the mix might be too awkward. 

When his son was out of earshot, Regis added, to himself more than anything, “You never know who might be there, Noct. You never know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^___^ This fic puts me in a good mood, I don't know why lol. Even though I pulled another all-nighter on it. Now I have to go pack before I get on a bus for a 5-hour ride to go visit my in-laws. I...should probably get my shit together. 
> 
> Happy New Year, fam!!!


	3. The ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Noctis wanted was some time to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fam!
> 
> So [these are more or less the riding clothes](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/55/6b/d3/556bd39578889a3b9c91038acbd1fa50--steampunk-halloween-costumes-s-fashion.jpg) they're talking about here. [Worn like this.](http://www.hannoverianridingwear.com.au/images/mens-jackets/Copy%20of%20mens%20tails.jpg) I like the black coat and the buckskin pants so it's what I was picturing ;)

**Chapter Three: The ride**

Before midday, Noctis asked Ignis to prepare his riding clothes. His usual fare, the clothes he felt the most comfortable in out of probably everything he owned. Sliding into the buckskin breeches and long, knee-high riding boots made him feel relaxed. Purposeful. As Ignis smoothed the tailcoat over his arms,straightening the gilt buttons over his stomach, Noctis realized that he looked nice too. The clothes accentuated his waist in a flattering way. He brushed his bangs in the mirror, holding his top hat in the crook of his arm. Practiced, self-confident. Like this, Noctis could pass for sporty and even mildly athletic.

Good. He looked pretty good.

….Not as good as—no that didn’t count. That was just a one time thing. A costume. Besides, he’d left all of it at Ardyn’s—

“Hold on, sir.”

Ignis bent down to blacken the top of Noctis’s boots, rubbing a rag back and forth with calculated swipes. Ignis had the best boot-blackening recipe this side of the Atlantic. Without a doubt, Noctis would show up at Hyde Park looking impeccable. Sharp and well-groomed to the very last. Dashing. 

Fitting his top hat over his brow, Noctis managed something of a smile. Going for a ride down Rotten Row was a good idea. This might even be fun.

“Shall I be accompanying you, sir?” Ignis asked. His arms hung crisply at his sides.

Noctis thought about that. Sometimes a man might bring his valet around town, in case he needed an extra, reliable set of hands to hold his gloves or help him on his errands. Noctis liked taking Ignis with him when he went to the tailor, for example, because Ignis had a great eye for clothes.

But not today. “No thanks, Ig,” Noctis answered, jamming his gloves into his front pocket. “I think I need some time to myself. Clear my head.” 

It was true. Noctis was not even planning on inviting Prompto for this one. He just wanted to enjoy a ride. To feel more like himself again. To breathe a little. 

“Very good. Enjoy your ride, Noct.” Ignis’s green eyes were shiny to a point. Clearly he wanted Noctis to get some quality alone time too. Small, shared looks between the two of them could carry whole conversations. It was useful, in the same way it could also be kind of a lot.

So, he bid his father farewell—confused by another wily-looking smile etched into Regis’s face. What could Regis be smiling about? He always looked unreasonably self-satisfied when Noctis took one of his suggestions. Not that it meant anything. Noctis just liked to ride! Regis could look as smug as he wanted but…whatever. Shrugging it off, the young master led Quartz from the stables and rode away. 

_______________________________

_Hyde Park  
_ _10 November, 1856  
_ _Wednesday - Afternoon_

The weather really was warm. Cloudy, of course, but not quite as grey as it had been. You could not rule out the possibility of rain (London and all), but the day was holding up well so far. The air carried that certain special crispness of early autumn. There were a few scattered leaves on the dirt paths, dyeing the road in typical auburn colors. Quartz’s hooves crushed the cold earth beneath them with regular, even clomping. The stallion’s ribs were warm around the inside of Noctis’s legs. Reassuring. Every so often, Quartz brayed thoughtfully. A welcoming reminder of his companionship. 

Horses were pretty nonjudgmental and unwaveringly fair. They just liked to be outside. To run. Noctis wished his own needs were that simple. But, he was glad to give Quartz a nice, long ride in nature for a change instead of just running circles around the estate.

He patted Quartz’s thick neck affectionately.

Really, Noctis’s favorite part of Hyde Park was the north side. The more untamed sections, secluded from the bustling social gaggles that meandered around Rotten Row. He decided to go on a detour. They would trot along the trails in the north end before heading south to the track. The best part was that Noctis could make Quartz go faster up here, all the way to a brisk canter. On the Row, it was an unspoken rule that you kept your horse to a trot at maximum. The point of Rotten Row wasn’t the ride as much as it was the socializing. Stirring up dirt among all the conversation would be extremely rude. Blah blah blah.

So Noctis took the opportunity now to ride swiftly through the trees. There wasn’t anyone else around so he was free to do as he liked. He brought Quartz all the way to a near-gallop, relishing in the fresh breeze curling around his ears. Hitting his face. If Noctis rode really fast, he couldn’t hear—or feel—anything except the wind. Nothing else mattered, just the ride. He kept his back straight , moving in time to Quartz’s feet. 

It was the best. Feeling good—and knowing he looked cool too. Noctis knew very well that he was a great rider. He’d learned how to ride from his mother Aulea, after all. She was raised out in the country where horse-rearing was as compulsory as eating and breathing. He had her natural talent, everyone said. That was the one unassailable thing Noctis would always be proud of. That, and whenever someone reminded him that he looked quite a lot like Aulea. At least in his face and body shape…

A branch cracked underneath Quartz’s feet and Noctis brought him back down to a trot. Better not go too fast. Not in Hyde Park. In the nearby clearing, some passersby were out for a stroll.

Back to the reality of London and its constant throng of people.

He glanced at his pocket watch. It was going on 3:00; he’d been riding for over two hours already. Time to call it and join the rest of society for a while.

Or maybe he’d just go home. Fuck it.

…But, no. He couldn’t do that. He might start getting a reputation as a recluse. Then he wouldn’t get invited to parties as much, which would be a pain in the ass. If nothing else, Noctis liked being invited to things. Parties were an excuse to drink—all he needed to do was go for a few hours, participate in some nonsense conversation, and then he could get hammered or fuck off or whatever he wanted. Keep his reputation for being that guy. Sometimes it was actually fun, too. Every now and then.

So he headed south towards the Row. Gearing himself up for…people. And all that.

The sound of polite voices and boisterous laughter met him on the way. Rotten Row was the same as always. Men and women stood along the track in their fancy (but tastefully casual) daywear. Pale pastel dresses and parasols for the women. Suits for the gentleman. Everyone on horseback wore some iteration of the riding habit. Conversations continued atop horses; the capable, familiar upperclass riders kept their steeds at an even, slow walking pace. Riding there, like that, was a sign of wealth as much as it was anything else.

“I didn’t hear anything about Lady Auburndale’s gala! Was it as extravagant as always? Because, you know, I was on tour in the Continent…”

“Who was he courting, did you say? Miss Silvary? Well that’s unexpected?”

“Hardly!” 

Noctis caught snippets of conversation. He understood most of the gossip. London Society could be a surprisingly small world, at the end of the day. He knew most of the players, and most of the moves as well. 

It was about as fascinating as watching laundry dry.

Still, he tipped his hat at the familiar faces. People made pleasant remarks to him, which he returned with a faint smile and polite bow. One of his female acquaintances, whom he knew by association through a childhood friend, met his gaze and looked intentionally across the way. Prompting him to look in that direction—

“Will you be on holiday in Chamonix for long, Ms. Haughton? It’s so lovely in the winter time…” 

Even if Noctis hadn’t been looking, he would have recognized the voice. A feminine, airy tone. Light and articulate. Only slightly slurred at the end with the barest hint of a French accent. And then, the downy blond hair. So pale it was nearly white. Skin fair enough to match.

Lunafreya. Noctis’s eyes widened when he saw her—when had she gotten into town? She hadn’t called on him, as was their usual practice, he thought. But there she was: Sitting atop her stunning chestnut bay mare with her brother Ravus in tow. The young Lord Nox Fleuret kept a few paces behind her, riding his own silver-grey, black-maned steed. No doubt he was serving as chaperone for his unwed sister. His piercing blue eyes and angular face threw daggers in the direction of anyone looking their way.

Luna and Noctis were friends from childhood. After the accident, Noctis and Regis spent some time in France to help with his recuperation. Doctors suggested that the air in the French countrysides could aide all types of ills. So they spent a summer in a chateau outside Grenoble. Their neighbors were the Nox Fleuret clan—a family of decent birth who had narrowly managed to escape persecution during the Revolution. (They had a dark history of struggles under the Reign, everyone was sure, but the Nox Fleurets kept their secrets close to the vest. No one knew the whole story.) 

Although they only had a summer together, Luna and Noctis got along well. Her company was pleasant and she had a smile that reminded Noctis of the good things in the world. Pretty flowers and warm air, hot tea and fluffy blankets. Luna was undeniably a force of pure goodness. At a time when Noctis found himself reeling from the loss of his mother and his own sudden crippling, Luna was an unparalleled relief. She admitted to liking Noctis because she could teach him things. Her English was fluent, far and away better than Noctis’s French. So they started from there. Then, she taught him about the local flora. Made Noctis forget the world of pain he’d left behind in London. A strong friendship developed. 

When the Caelums departed from the chateau, Noctis and Luna began writing to each other. They kept a steady correspondence through their young adult years, meeting up in France during the summer occasionally. Noctis still considered her one of his good friends, even though they had very little in common these days. He liked their memories together. 

Furthermore, Luna as a young woman was even lovelier than she had been back in the day. Now she was entirely beautiful. Smart and a good deal stronger in spirit than other women her age. Her manner would have been off-putting to a lot of people if her demure looks didn’t set them at ease. But Noctis knew Luna’s eyes saw a lot more than she let on.

Now she was there in front of him. After almost two years of just letters!

Their eyes met. Right away, Luna smiled and waved in recognition. She excused herself from her conversation with the gentlewoman and began trotting over to Noctis. Ravus—who harbored no particular love for Noctis (theirs was an old, sore type of rivalry)—followed behind her bitterly. 

“Noctis!” Luna’s aqua blue eyes sparkled as she greeted him. “There you are! I was hoping I’d see you around town sooner rather than later.”

“Great to see you, Luna,” Noctis replied quickly, tugging Quartz’s reigns a little closer. He nodded respectfully over at Ravus as well. The older Nox Fleuret tipped his hat wordlessly. “Since when are you in London?”

Luna’s head tilted to one side. “Since the beginning of the month. Ravus and I are visiting our father’s aunt for Christmas. We’ll probably be here through the spring as well.” 

So just in time for the start of the Season. Noctis could figure out what that meant.

She paused, as if waiting for some recognition. Then she added, “I did write you, Noct.”

Oh. Noctis searched his memory for his last correspondence with Luna. He remembered her talking about her dogs, as always…something about a trip…ah. Right. She had mentioned a trip to London. Noctis was caught up with his own trivial life, otherwise he would have definitely written her back encouraging a meeting when she arrived. 

Well. That was his bad.

“…Sorry, Luna,” Noctis muttered. He would admit to being embarrassed. 

Luna might be the one person his own age Noctis kept his rebellious lifestyle from. For some reason, he didn’t want Luna to see him as the town fuck-up. He wanted to stay the kindhearted kid she knew from back then. Just because. So, missing out on that last letter—rude to say the least—made him feel like a jerk. Not to mention, she had been in London for a few weeks by now. No telling what kind of rumors she’d already heard about Noctis.

“It’s quite alright! I know how busy you are.” Shit, did she? Did that mean she knew he had very few friends and entertained…some…self-destructive habits? 

Fucking probably. Luna’s voice hardly ever wavered when she spoke. Noctis learned to take that as a sign that she frequently knew exactly what went on beneath the surface of things. The undiscussed truths.

“Besides, it’s no matter.” Luna’s face broke out into a smile. “You’re here now! We must ride for a bit and catch up. Your last letter arrived in August, I believe. I’d love to know what’s been going on in your life since then.”

That was not at all what Noctis had been planning on for this little trip to the Row. Conversing with Luna meant extended talking and promises to meet up again in the near future. He immediately balked at the suggestion, trying to come up with an excuse.

And yet…he had been rude not answering her last letter. So he owed Luna some attention. After all, their friendship was not based on much at this point. If he kept putting her off, there was a good chance the entire thing might fall apart. Noctis couldn’t say he wanted that.

Tightening his fists, forcing back the unpleasant feeling of obligation, Noctis smiled and nodded. “Sure, Luna, let’s do that. Sounds great.”

At that, Luna broke into a legitimate smile—one of her rare, small signs of true happiness. The sun seemed to peak out from behind the clouds ever so slightly. She had the effect. 

Beside them, Ravus harrumphed his displeasure. “Sister, we have tea with the Baron and his wife in an hour…” 

“Oh, that’s plenty of time.” Luna tossed her blonde ponytail behind her shoulder. “Ravus, dear brother, isn’t that Lord Westley over there? Next to the woman in green?”

Ravus followed her line of sight. When he saw the man she was talking about, his eyes flashed in recognition. It was a sober, surprised expression Noctis was not used to seeing on the nobleman’s typically surly face.

“Wasn’t he your friend at the conservatory in Paris?” She gave the explanation entirely for Noctis’s sake, since it was clear Ravus knew the man. “Why, go say hello! I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you again after all this time.”

Ravus stared with intense scrutiny at the man in question, eyeing the women next to him with a bitter face. Then he turned to Luna and clicked his tongue in irritation.   


“Remember what we discussed. Mother asked me—”

“Never mind that. You’re only going over there.” She gestured to the couple across the way. “I’ll return to you in barely a moment’s time, after my conversation with Noct.”

Now Ravus’s hawk-like eyes turned to Noctis. Distrusting. 

“Go on, then, brother,” Luna encouraged, lowering her voice. “Don’t be shy.” 

To Noctis’s complete surprise, a flush of color appeared high on Ravus’s cheeks. He bit his bottom lip surreptitiously and looked back at his sister. Something passed between them—an unspoken affirmation in the particular language of siblings, something Noctis had no hope of understanding. But in the end, Ravus nodded and led his horse over to the couple. Slowly. Somewhat hesitant.

With her brother finally out of earshot, Luna turned to Noctis with a bright, conspiratorial face. “Shall we talk?” she asked, leading her horse further down the path.

Noctis had to admit he liked Luna’s style. Even though she was in a foreign country, Luna moved with the confidence of a young woman ever on home turf. She knew the rules of Society. She was good at molding herself into the angles of life here. Better than Noctis, that’s for damn sure. And he was born into this.

Now suddenly he felt a little relieved that Luna had come to London. If nothing else, she was a breath of fresh air. Something outside the monotony of the day-to-day circles. She was also real. Much more enlightened than the rest of the typical company because she was not afraid to think for herself. To _see_.

In better spirits, Noctis brought Quartz to pace next to Luna’s mare. “It really is good to see you, Luna. Guess it’s lucky that you went on the Row today, huh?”

Luna’s eyes flashed. She paused for a moment. “Lucky. …Yes.” 

Of course, Noctis picked up on the strange hesitatuon. What was that? Had she somehow planned to meet him here? How could she know where he’d be, when Noctis had only decided on a ride because he talked to his dad—

—God damn it.

Noctis ground his back teeth together. So this was the reason Regis strongly encouraged Noctis to take a ride to the park today. Somehow Regis had known Lunafreya would be there. He wanted to facilitate a meeting between two young people—man and woman, childhood friends—like any good parent.

A pulse of resentment throbbed in Noctis’s chest. His dad was meddling again. For years Regis had been dropping hints about what a “remarkable woman” Luna was. Mentioning how she would certainly be married before she turned twenty-five. Beauty and charm like hers would be snatched up by the first man who saw her! Her parents would have a hard time narrowing down her choices. And couldn’t Noctis spend more time in the chateau over the summer if he wanted…

Message received. Luna’s trip to London was timed perfectly for the start of the Season. She was certainly on the circuit to find a husband in the myriad social events that followed. For Regis, the time to set her up with his son was nigh.

Embarrassment creeped up Noctis’s face. He and Luna were in for the full treatment of suggestions—maybe even blatant asking. Gently encouraged into a marriage….the thought of which made Noctis feel startlingly uncomfortable.

“Is London always so agreeable this time of year?” Luna asked blithely. Easing into their discussion.

“Not at all,” Noctis snorted. “This is a fluke. It’ll probably be pouring in a minute.” 

Luna laughed musically. “You would know best, Noct. So then, tell me. How do you usually pass time in the city? With the weather so uncontrollable.”

“Oh, you know…” Noctis really didn’t have an answer for that. Besides partying and slipping in and out of gambling dens. Things were boring like that until the Season started up again. “…this and that.”

“…I see.” Luna obviously recognized a cop out, but she was too polite to press him. Yet another aspect of her that twisted some guilt into Noctis.

Instead, she changed the subject. “Have I told you about my Great-aunt Meryl? My father’s mother’s sister. Raised in England since she was five.” 

“Uh, no, I…don’t think so…” Licking his lips, Noctis absentmindedly combed his fingers through Quartz’s mane. Wondering how long their conversation could realistically last.

“Well, she’s very fond of the people here. Or…so she says.” Luna’s eyes took on a faraway look. Noctis found himself taken in by the seriousness of it. “Really, I’m not sure. My aunt can sometimes be very…critical. Not insulting of course, but. She has her own opinions about the way people live their lives.”

“Sounds fun,” Noctis said sarcastically.

Luna smiled with a wince. “Quite. But she’s a good woman at heart. And an old one. She’s seen generations come and go. So she knows a fair bit about how the world works, I think. I try to keep that in mind when I speak to her.” 

From a short distance away, Noctis could hear the unmistakable sound of coquettish giggling rising above the din. Some lady (ladies? it sounded like more than one) was laying it on thick, whoever she was trying to woo. 

Luna continued, paying them no mind. “Aunt Meryl knows all too well what it’s like for a woman born with expectations. Family expectations. It’s…difficult being in a woman’s place. You know, Noctis?”

“Uh…what do you mean?” Honestly, Noctis had not thought about a woman’s responsibilities or hindrances. He’d only thought about what it felt like to wear a dress and monopolize the attention of crowds. Which, to him, had felt pretty damn good.

Luna touched her bangs in thought. Trying to decide how to continue. “Hm. Well. It’s…my aunt says twenty-five is the turning point for a young lady of means.”

“Turning point?” Noctis frowned.

“Yes.” Luna looked away, not meeting his eyes. “A year under twenty-five and you’re a catch. A year over and you’re…an old maid.”

Not expecting that, Noctis guffawed. “Old maid? Come on! That’s so old-fashioned! No way, Luna. It’s not like that anymore.” 

He could see Luna was trying, and failing, to smile back. “I know, it sounds silly. But my cousin Eva is twenty-seven and she tells me in her letters that her marriage prospects have dwindled considerably. Two years ago she was the talk of the _ton,_ now she hardly ever gets called on. Once a month at best. It’s…I think about that a lot.” 

The piercing laughter nearby reached a fever pitch. Noctis was trying to listen to what Luna was saying—he really was—but they were getting closer to whatever scene had unfolded across the track. The cries were punctuated with a jumble of female conversation. Almost too quick to follow.

“Oh sir, that’s so wicked! Really, you shouldn’t mention…”

“But my goodness, is that so? They swim…naked? In the…what was it called again?”

“The bay, no?” 

“No the billa…dilla, was it?” 

“No no, bongyoo! I think. Like the bayou, isn’t it, sir?” 

“Close enough.” There. A male voice, where before there had only been females. That was a decidedly male baritone. Deep and slow. Interested, but laced with humor as if there was something secretly funny about the whole affair—

A tremor ran down the back of Noctis’s neck. That voice made the tiny hairs along his arms stand on end, as if pulled by static charge. He spun around instantly, searching the crowd for the source.

“I suppose, yes, a billabong is similar to the Cajun bayous in America. Though a bit less…swampy.” 

Ardyn stood among a crowd of three fawning young women. He was like a stain of wine on a pastel-colored table cloth; the women were all dressed in light greens and pinks, the colors becoming women of their youngish age (none of them could be any older than twenty-five). And there, with one bright-eyed brunette girl wrapped around his elbow, stood Ardyn. He was wearing the same top hat and coat Noctis had seen him in the last time. Even the waistcoat might have been the same—Ardyn was clearly not a man of much means, wearing the same outfit so close together. Nor was he in riding clothes, on top of some majestic steed. He was just standing there on the sidelines at Rotten Row chatting up a cohort of young women. Like an upper middle-class gentleman might do. It wouldn’t have been noticeable in the slightest—except for the painfully obvious feminine attention surrounding Ardyn. That was difficult to ignore. Several people cast curious, disapproving glances in their direction. 

But as soon as Noctis’s eyes landed on Ardyn, he felt all the air rush out of his lungs. 

_Him._

Noctis would have thought he’d be able to feel Ardyn before he saw him. In a way, he had. That molasses-coated voice made Noctis stop dead in his tracks, forgetting all about his poorly contrived conversation with Luna. Now he sat froze on his mount, eyes wide, face contorted in a tortured mix of shock, fear, and _oh god._

His heart throbbed painfully. He nearly doubled over at the waist from an overwhelming feeling of…something. The blood in his veins went cold. He couldn’t feel his face or his legs either. He was sure that underneath his top hat and riding tailcoat, he was sweating like a laborer. 

There on Rotten Row stood a man who knew Noctis’s worst secrets. The man who had…changed something about Noctis. Something he thought immovable until it happened.

_And_. Ardyn was surrounded by cute girls, flirting the day away without a single thought to spare for Noctis or anything the young master might have been feeling since that night….

But Ardyn was so damn good at it! Well, obviously. He’d charmed Noctis— previously entirely heterosexual in his own mind—right into bed in less than an hour. That night, Noctis had everything to lose and yet he still went home with Ardyn. So. To say that Ardyn had some skill in seduction was a provable fact, whether the man owed his luck to charisma or deceit or some combination of the two, Noctis honestly didn’t know.

Regardless, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It seemed Ardyn was riveting the girls with a story of faraway lands, tales that were normally best repeated in pubs or gentlemen’s clubs instead of among the upper-crust on Rotten Row. But that alone had the girls hanging on his every word, laughing behind their gloved hands in a way their mothers would certainly have considered rude if they were anywhere nearby. 

“It’s so lively here,” Luna commented, looking in the same direction as Noctis and remarking on all the hubbub. It was as polite a statement as you could say about the situation. “Is it always like this?”

No. No, it was never like this. Noctis had been going to Hyde Park his whole life and he’d never felt like this before—like his entire world was dangling on the end of a flimsy thread, tied to the capricious finger of one Ardyn Izunia. Yes, he was afraid of whatever words might spill out of Ardyn’s mouth like so much honey-coated venom (“I say, ladies, have you ever seen a man in reed-backed crinoline and rouge? It’s quite the sight.”). 

…And yes, seeing Ardyn now (the man he’d been dreaming about, shamefully, and imagining in his most frustrating fantasies for weeks now) made Noctis feel like he had just surfaced after a long, cold dive to the depths of the ocean. Now he was breathing. Now he was _feeling_. Now everything mattered and he cared about something again. 

He stared at Ardyn like a man dying of hunger stares at a meal he expects might be laced with poison. Desperate. Choked by his own conflicting, impossibly tangled needs. Noctis knew he would be wise to turn his horse around and run in the complete opposite direction. Cover Luna’s eyes before she so much as glanced at Ardyn and was corrupted (given the chance to learn something about Noctis she should never, _ever_ learn). _But_. In his heart, Noctis wanted to jump out of his saddle and run straight into Ardyn’s arms 

_There you are. Finally. Why didn’t you come get me?_

“Well, it’s no wonder the Royal Review advises against travel to Oceania,” one of the young women flocked around Ardyn revised. She was wearing a coral-pink satin dress and had brown hair in ringlets down to her shoulders. Clearly well-moneyed. “I imagine it’s absolutely _savage_ out there!” 

“Quite so.” The third woman, still grinning fiendishly, put her hand on Ardyn’s shoulder. So familiar! Now Ardyn had _two_ women touching him. 

She leaned closer and whispered, “Will you tell us more, Mr. Izunia?” 

Ardyn bounced his eyebrows, wearing that unmovable smirk. “If you ladies insist. Although, I daresay we might be in the wrong company for another story like that.” 

“Oh, nonsense!” The girl on his arm blurted, shiny mahogany hair spilling out of her bonnet. “It’s always so _dull_ around here. Many of us would benefit from a colorful tale or two. Even if it ruffles a few feathers.” 

Ardyn pushed up the brim of his top hat, looking around at the group of women with an amused, deeply flattered expression. “Well. We wouldn’t want that. But I must say I’m impressed. You young ladies seem to be quite modern-minded. I’m interested in hearing your thoughts on the subject. Do you three, as sisters, travel very often?” 

Oh. So they were _sisters_. No wonder they felt comfortable moving as a group. 

Black bile filled Noctis’s chest. He clenched the leather reigns in his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. Even through his riding gloves, Noctis could feel his nails digging into his palms.

Those… _tramps_. Standing around giggling with their mouths open. Toeing the line of what was barely acceptable in public. Fucking throwing themselves at Ardyn just because they _could_ , covered in satin and lace and sweet-smelling hair. Nothing special about them at all! Just that they were women, that’s it. Real women, whatever, gentlewomen. So what? Noctis was sure he would look ten times better in the same dress—no, _thirty_ times better because none of them could hold a candle to him if he really tried—

“Noct, are you alright?” 

Luna’s voice reached Noctis through the din of hateful thoughts swarming his head. He swallowed hard, twitching in his seat and forcing Quartz to stomp his hooves impatiently. He needed to get himself together, for god’s sake. Stop looking at them, stop thinking about what the four of them were going to do later—would Ardyn fuck all three of them at once? He could, probably, the guy’s stamina was insane. Or maybe he’d already fucked them, one at a time, separately, as a group, or whatever. Maybe the reason those women were so carefree about touching Ardyn was because they’d done so already, intimately. Shit, of _course_ they had…

Noctis fought the urge to clench every muscle in his body as he imagined that. Those women and Ardyn. Naked as they came, riding Ardyn’s iron cock with their heads thrown back (like Noctis had, and like he’d remembered so many times afterwards). Breasts bouncing up and down on each thrust. Maybe Ardyn liked a good pair of tits. Maybe he would squeeze them and rub his face in between, scratching their skin with his stubble. Wolfish as he sucked their fleshy tits into his ravenous mouth—

“My goodness, Noctis, what’s the matter?”

The urgency in Luna’s tone dragged Noctis back to reality. He realized he was squeezing Quartz’s ribs with his legs because he was literally seizing with jealousy. That wasn’t good, the squeezing would spur Quartz into a run, but Noctis was holding the reigns so tight. Mixed signals— 

Sure enough, caught between two uncomfortable sets of instructions, Quartz snorted noisily and reared his hind legs threateningly. Like he was trying to throw Noctis from the seat. It might have worked, except Noctis had been jilted before and knew how to get back into control. He loosened his grip and leaned forward forward, catching himself on Quartz’s neck. Just in time to murmur apologies and pet his stallion’s coat soothingly. 

“Shh…shh, sorry, I’m sorry…it’s okay…” 

Several people turned to look at the commotion. Very, very rarely did someone lose control of their mounts in Rotten Row. Most riders were quite experienced and the horses were well-trained. A horse trying to throw its owner was something of a sight. 

Luckily, Noctis had a good enough rapport with Quartz to calm him quickly. When all was settled, Noctis wanted to hide his face from the glaring sensation of too many eyes on him. He could hear the whispers as well.

Luna reached out a tentative hand, grazing Noctis’s shoulder—and withdrawing immediately when he flinched painfully under her touch. 

His body was on fire. Seeing Ardyn standing there—just standing there, fully dressed and conversing like a normal person—had driven Noctis to such a heightened state. His stomach roiled, his body ached. Inside and out. He wanted to be the one on Ardyn’s arm. He wanted Ardyn to touch him again—even just a little bit. He _needed_ it. 

In the middle of the day, at Hyde Park, surrounded by strangers and his best friend from childhood, Noctis was half-hard. His manhood strained, painfully obvious, against his buckskin breeches. 

“Noct, what is it. Noctis.” Luna had brought her voice down to whisper.

Fighting back overwhelming embarrassment and anger, Noctis lifted his face to meet her. “…Sorry Luna,” he choked out. “I, um…not feeling so good, I think.” 

Eyes searching for the truth, Luna held out her hand again. She retracted at the last second. “Noctis your face is beet red. You look over-exerted. How long have you been riding today?” 

“Few hours…” It was the truth, and that was nothing to Noctis. He could probably ride a whole day and feel fine, but Luna didn’t know that. She remembered the Noctis from their youth. The crippled boy who paled from shorts walks across the meadow.

“Oh, Noct.” Luna’s face dissolved into sympathy. “You’ve been reckless. That’s enough riding for today. You should come to luncheon with me and Ravus, have a nice meal before you return home.” 

Noctis shook his head. All his instincts screamed at him to look back over at Ardyn. But if he did…what would happen? Would his body betray him again?

“Thanks, but, I don’t know…”

Luna shook her head resolutely. “No, you must. It’s the least I can offer in apology, forcing you to stay out for idle conversation as I did…”

As she went on, insisting over and over that he come to lunch with them, Noctis began to feel like he couldn’t turn her down. Besides, leaving now was probably an objectively good idea. There was a small public stable at the end of the park where you could tie down your horse for a few hours, Noctis had used it before. He should just go to lunch with Luna and try to forget all about this. 

Still. Before he did. Maybe just _one_ last look…

When he turned back around—bracing himself for the sight of those simpering women—he found Ardyn staring right at him. Dead on. Straight into his eyes. Not only had Ardyn recognized him, he had pinpointed him out of the crowd and waited until Noctis looked round. Making sure their eyes met.

Noctis’s mouth went completely dry. The world around them faded away. All he saw was Ardyn. Those gold-flecked eyes. A _piercing_ gaze. The same look Ardyn had given Noctis as he fucked him into oblivion. Pounding him with every ounce of strength he possessed. 

He thought Ardyn was going to say something. He felt it. There were so many things Noctis wanted to say in return. And so many things he didn’t want to say, things that he wanted to just show Ardyn by grabbing his face and kissing hard him there in the middle of Rotten Row. Consequences be damned.

Scant seconds away from throwing himself into Ardyn’s arms, he watched in complete horror as Ardyn flicked his gaze over to Luna. Pointedly. Raising an eyebrow in question and then twisting his duplicitous face into a knowing smile. 

Before Noctis even knew what was happening, Ardyn gave him a bow—barely more than a nod of his head—and looked away. Turning his back on Noctis to give attention to the pretty ladies in his company.

All the crazy hopes and desperate wishes inside Noctis shattered in an instant. It felt like the sky itself had collapsed. 

Rejection. Cold, murderous rejection. Again.

“I’m sure you’ll find the Baroness’s company pleasant,” Luna continued, heedless of the devastation wreaking havoc on Noctis. “And at the very most it’ll be an afternoon. So, will you, Noct? Luncheon with us?” 

At that moment, Noctis was fighting back tears. He swallowed painfully, tossing his bangs over his face just in case he couldn’t control himself. Like he used to do when he was a kid. 

Yeah. Time to go.

“Lunch sounds great, Luna,” Noctis answered finally. He hoped his voice didn’t sound nearly as dead as he felt. “Let me just go tie down Quartz in the stable.”

Luna’s face brightened considerably. “Of course, take your time. I’ll go tell Ravus we can expect a third among us. See you back here, alright?”

Her smile was almost enough to make Noctis feel like the world might not be ending. He didn’t know whether to be grateful to her for that or not—if Luna hadn’t been there, Noctis might have walked right up to Ardyn and punched the asshole right in his smug face. Which might have raised a few questions. And possibly landed him in jail again, which he promised Ignis not to do. But it would have felt so damn good. 

After this, he and Luna would probably officially be seen as ‘courting.’ Appearing in public together and going to events as companions; it was an obvious announcement. Regis would be ecstatic. And Ardyn could go fuck himself. Noctis didn’t need him! He had a beautiful girl of his own who wanted him (probably, if that’s Luna had been driving at earlier). 

Even if it was the exact opposite of anything Noctis himself wanted.

Rage tore through him without mercy. He wanted to make Ardyn choke on his own indifference—he wanted to throw the whole thing back in the older man’s face, make it seem like he was the one who had lost something precious that night. If only there were a way to turn the tables! Something…

But there wasn’t. Ardyn held all the cards. Noctis couldn’t make him feel whatever _this_ was, this one-sided hell Noctis was going through. He couldn’t and that only made it hurt even more.

He lost his head. Stirring Quartz into a straight gallop, Noctis threw the book at whatever unspoken rules there were on the Row and led his horse into a run. Right past Ardyn and his three young women. Making sure to kick up as much dirt as he physically could, forcing a nervous whinny out of his steed. 

A general cry rang through the crowd. Everyone cleared out of Noctis’s path.The three sisters shouted in dismay and surprise at the dust on their satin dresses. They’d probably never been caught in public so disgracefully dirty before. Most people hadn’t, to be fair.

Good. Noctis hoped their satin was ruined. 

Now, for sure, Ardyn was looking at him again. But Noctis only had time to shoot a savage glance in his direction before he took off into the distance.

————

“That fucking bastard…” 

Noctis kicked the wall of the stable. Knowing it would scuff the hell out of his riding boots. He was so angry right now! He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been this pissed off. Ardyn had given him the brush off as casually and easily as the most indifferent son of bitch—he’d full on… _dismissed_ him. 

Dismissed. Like Noctis was a man he barely even knew. Or a servant.

“ _Fucking_ asshole!”

There was a small bucket of water on the floor meant for giving the horses a wet brush down if needed. (The stable hands would take care of that.) Noctis wanted to grab the bucket with two hands and fling it across the stable. Not that it would accomplish anything, except making more work for the groomers. But it might make him feel better to throw something.

He curled his hands around the brim, lifting the bucket a fraction off the ground, before he realized what the hell he was doing.

This was stupid. He wasn’t five years old, damn it.

Letting it slip from his fingers, a wave of regret and deep loneliness chased away the anger. His lower lip trembled, and he buried his face against Quartz’s warm flank. There was no one around, he was alone in the stable, yet this feeling was enough of a condemnation. Noctis hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop a few tears leaking down his cheeks.

It wasn’t that he’d never been rejected before—even though, yeah, he hadn’t. More accurately, Noctis had never put himself in a position where someone could turn him down. He didn’t call on people, didn’t try to make friends where he knew he wouldn’t be welcome. Instead, the bitterness of this feeling in his heart came from the fact that Noctis had never _wanted_ someone as much as he wanted Ardyn.

Without question, if Ardyn had smiled in return, offered him…something…anything…Noctis would have run to him in a heartbeat. Even if all Ardyn had done was just…not turn his back like that. Noctis would have abandoned Luna and tried to follow Ardyn back to his place. Or maybe he wouldn’t have, but he wouldn’t be hurt like this either. _This_ was just…complete and utter shit. 

And still. The worst fucking part: Excitement tingled Noctis’s belly every time he thought about Ardyn standing there. That bulky body in the well-worn suit. His unshaven, forever smiling face. Noctis remembered what it felt like when Ardyn escorted _him_ through the park…and oh shit, that had felt so good. 

Yes, the worst part was that Noctis still wanted him. His stubborn prick twitched persistently against his tight pants. Most likely Noctis would need to rub one out (in the solitude of the public outhouse) before he went to lunch with Luna. He couldn’t risk disgracing himself any further by walking around London with a half-stand in his pants for everyone to see—

The stable doors swung open. Noctis froze, stifling his pathetic sniveling sounds as he heard a pair of heavy boots clomp nearer his stall. He wiped his face against Quartz’s coat should he need to make himself somewhat presentable in the next few seconds.

The boots came to a halt just outside the stall. 

“Really, Noct. That was unbecoming of a gentleman, don’t you think?” 

Noctis turned so fast his neck seized up. Him, again! It seemed Ardyn had taken the liberty of following him to the stables on foot. Now he was standing across from Noctis and the horse. Every inch the man Noctis remembered, from head to toe. Ardyn held his arms out wide in a disbelieving, casual shrug.

“You…!” A million words came to mind as Noctis choked. Nothing but a snarl escaped him. 

Ardyn’s face softened. “Me, yes. Good afternoon, formally.” He tipped his hat. “Before you ask, no, I wasn’t planning on seeing you in Hyde Park today. This is all a marvelous example of serendipity.”

Noctis wanted to wipe that indifferent smirk off the older man’s face. As much as he wanted to stand on his toes and kiss the daylights out of him.

“And I should mention,” Ardyn continued. “I had to pay for a hansom as recompense to those women I was entertaining. They were inconsolable in their grief over the dresses you ruined. It was all I could do to send them home politely enough.” He crossed his arms irritably. “So you owe me a shilling.” 

_Really._

Stepping away from Quartz, Noctis balled his hands into fists. He was just about ready to punch Ardyn now. Would it hurt? Probably; Ardyn was built like a brick wall (deceptively, as Noctis knew). But fuck it! Sometimes words were not enough! 

“My…” Ardyn’s eyes widened. Either mocking or seriously shocked, most likely a bit of both. “I can see you’re angry. Very much so. Though, I admit I’m completely in the dark as to why.” 

More tears threatened to spill. Noctis could feel the other man’s warmth even from this far away. It did things to him. Tore him in so many directions. 

“…As _if_ you don’t know…fucker…” Noctis managed to growl. His voice betrayed him by breaking at the end. Like a woman. Damn it!

Ardyn tossed one hand in the air. “But I assure you, my prince, I don’t. After all, I kept my lips utterly sealed about our encounter. Today I planned on leaving you entirely to your cute little lady friend. I wasn’t going to say a word to her, or anyone else.”

Showing his confusion, Ardyn scratched the back of his head. “I was content to let our soiree from a few weeks ago retire quietly into the annals of history. _Personal_ history, I mean. No one has to know.”

For some reason, that rang with a bit of honesty. Noctis narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if Ardyn was being sincere. If that was all Ardyn thought about the subject. 

Could that be it? Didn’t he see the effect he had on Noctis? Didn’t he know that even now, so full of hate and rage, Noctis couldn’t help noticing Ardyn was wearing a different cologne? It wasn’t as spicy as the one he’d worn the other day. This one was cleaner, fresher, with a hint of sandalwood. Still, it couldn’t cover up Ardyn’s natural musk. The manly odor he wore, the same scent Noctis drowned in that night and carried around in his memory ever since. 

Didn’t Ardyn know that his smell—his whole goddamn _presence_ —made Noctis’s knees wobble like they might give out at any second? That Noctis’s hands were trembling from the desire to touch? That his eyes couldn’t stop darting around Ardyn’s body, from those broad shoulders to the very tips of the older man’s fingers…fuck, Noctis knew what those fingers _tasted_ like. He’d had them in his mouth—in his ass, twisting and pushing. Exploring places inside of Noctis that couldn’t help wanting more…

No, maybe Ardyn didn’t know any of that. Because it seemed like he hadn’t cared, then or now. Maybe he really was ignorant of this kind of suffering. Clearly, whatever they’d done together hadn’t meant the same to him as it had to Noctis. Didn’t have the same…effect.

Weariness and a resurgence of that lonely rejection washed over the young lord. He sighed, anger slipping away. 

“Forget it,” Noctis said at last. He tried to look for the fastest way around Ardyn, out of here. “Let’s just drop it. I’ve got somewhere to be anyway.”

His path was blocked by a wide body. A repeat of the same move Ardyn used on him when they first met. 

“Oh, yes, quite,” Ardyn began, his tone jumbled with bewilderment and distant frustration. “I’m just going to leave you here in the stables, like this, crying your eyes out for certainly no reason—”

“I’m not crying!!” 

The bellow echoed across the stables. A few horses snorted in irritation.

Ardyn waited a moment, then raised his hands in surrender. “Of course you’re not.”

Another moment passed. Noctis stared at his feet, wishing he was a better liar. Wishing that instead of all this he could do what he really wanted. That he could bring Ardyn’s hands to his mouth and kiss them. Lick the knuckles, which he knew were tough and faintly scarred. Drop to his knees and beg for one more chance—

A chance at what? Noctis didn’t know. But he wanted another try! It was only fair…

_One more time, please, I’ll do anything…_

Finally, Ardyn broke the silence. He moved in closer, reducing the distance between them to practically nothing. Trapping Noctis in the cramped space between him and his horse.

“Even so,” Ardyn rumbled. He stared at the younger man with searching eyes. “Out with it. Tell me what has you running your horse through Rotten Row like a madman.”

Noctis quivered where he stood. They were so close their knees were touching. He tried to remember to breathe, stuttering and gasping quietly as he inhaled more of this man. The only words in his mouth now were pleas. 

_Please please please. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want, but please!_

“Hmm?” Ardyn bent his face towards Noctis. The tips of his wild hair brushed the sensitive skin of the younger man’s cheek. 

His lips eclipsed Noctis’s vision. He wanted to kiss Ardyn, to bite him. To scream into his mouth as he rode out the high of yet another impossibly good climax—

“Tch…” Noctis wanted to sound angry, indignant. But he probably managed little better than a choked hiss.

As they stood, infinitesimally separated, Ardyn watched him with eyes that wouldn’t let him escape. He watched and watched. Then, slowly, understanding dawned over his scraggly face. 

“Ah.” 

Ardyn’s eyes flicked down to Noctis’s heaving chest. Lower, where Noctis was trying to squeeze his legs together in a poor attempt to hide his pitiful state. Realization spread over the older man’s features. Along with a bright flicker of interest.

That—! 

Seeing a look of hunger there—it wasn’t just amusement, Noctis could tell. Ardyn was looking at him, at how fucking turned on he was, in public, as a man, as _himself_ , Noctis Caelum. And Ardyn liked what he saw. Even just slightly, the smallest bit. 

After weeks feeling as if all his desires were unrequited, Noctis melted when he saw a hint of genuine attraction. 

He let go of his breath in one desperate rush, grabbed Ardyn’s hand and pressed it firmly between his legs. Right where he needed him. Him and those fucking perfect, sexy, maddening hands.

“ _Touch_ me.” 

He didn’t know how to ask; all he could do was demand. So he pushed his stiffness (full mast now, thanks to the close proximity) against Ardyn’s hand, grinding his erection into the older man’s unsuspecting fingers. 

“Oh…!” 

Ardyn was letting him. He hadn’t pulled away (thank god, because this was actually a crime now, forcing another man to touch him like this, so inappropriately and in public to boot). But he wasn’t returning the gesture either. He just let Noctis use his hand as he liked, standing there while Noctis rutted into his palm like he couldn’t bare another second of going without—which was true.

It didn’t even fucking matter. Feeling Ardyn’s hands _there_ , finally, after so long…withclothing in between, but that didn’t matter either. Noctis’s eyes rolled back in his head. His jaw went slack. Light burst behind his eyelids and he needed to bite his lip to keep from coming right then. 

_Yes. Yes yes yes, please touch me. More, I need it…_

There were things Noctis could not bring himself to say. He needed to hope that his body told Ardyn enough of the truth to make him understand. To show him what kind of hell Noctis had been in these past weeks. How much he wanted this.

“Mmmm.” 

Ardyn pressed himself against Noctis, wrenching a deep moan out of the younger man. He curled his hand around Noctis’s trembling member, squeezing lightly. Touching him for real at last. 

“Eager boy,” Ardyn rumbled. He bent down and planted a wet kiss on Noctis’s cheek, massaging the aching prick in his hand. “I see now. This is what you wanted, is it?”

Lost to sensation, Noctis buried his face in Ardyn’s neck. He nodded furiously. 

“Well.” Ardyn rubbed his thumb along the wet, throbbing head of Noctis’s erection. Heedless of the mess his lover was making of those buckskin pants. “You must have been aching. This is quite the ramrod I’m holding, Noct.”

“Ah…!”

Noctis could feel the vibrations of Ardyn’s low, singing voice in his face and chest. He rutted hard against the older man’s hand, chasing an orgasm that was fast approaching—he wasn’t even trying to stop it now. He could taste divine satisfaction on his lips, he was so close. Almost there, almost there…

These hands were the cure for everything ailing him. Sweet heaven, at last. Noctis knew they were out in the open—barely hidden behind a stall. Squished together in a public stable house, surrounded by an unmistakably equine smell. That Ardyn was fondling him like a fucking professional, pushing Noctis back into his horse as he worked and knocking the silk top hat off his head onto the dirty straw-strewn floor. Anyone might walk in on them. The door was wide open. They could be discovered at any moment—

None of that mattered. This was perfect. This was everything Noctis needed. He bit hungrily on the juncture of Ardyn’s neck and shoulder, tasting the older man’s familiar skin. Seconds away from release. 

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Right here.” Ardyn spoke directly into his ear. “Let’s have it then.”

Unable to do anything else, Noctis gave in and came. As if in demonstration of his obedience. He yelped and shook, fisting the fabric of Ardyn’s coat to keep himself upright. Spilling endlessly against Ardyn’s hand. Soaking his pants through. Writhing, practically screaming. Needing that release more than he needed air at that moment.

As he spent, Ardyn chuckled. Clearly pleased. “Good boy.” 

Noctis came hard until he exhausted himself. He slumped against Ardyn when he was done, thoughts scattered like bits of torn paper in the breeze. 

He had come just from that. A little bit of groping in a stable. So, not impotent after all. And it wasn’t only his ass that needed tending to—no, there was something else going on here. Noctis wasn’t addicted to anal sex and the pleasures of sex between men as a whole. He was just addicted to Ardyn.

Really, that shouldn’t have been a surprise. 

As he caught his breath, Noctis felt the shame of what they’d just done creeping up on him. He wanted to forget about the rest of the world, forget the fact that he was supposed to go to lunch with Luna and Ravus right now. He wanted to linger in Ardyn’s embrace for a bit longer. Sink into him so he didn’t have to face whatever they needed to do after this.

Ardyn cradled Noctis’s limp body in his arms. He eyed the younger man with a look of pure pleasure. Sadistic in nature, perhaps, but genuine. Even empathetic in his own weird way. “It looks like you really needed that.”

Turning crimson, Noctis nodded slowly. He leaned his head on Ardyn’s chest and caught his breath. “I…missed you.” 

“My dear, sweet thing.” Ardyn kept one hand on Noctis’s pulsing, softening member. He combed the boy’s hair with the other. “I didn’t know you were hurting this badly. Your body is loyal to me now, isn’t it?”

Of course that was true. But Noctis nodded anyway so they both knew it. A huge relief, in a way, even though it was so fucking embarrassing. Noctis hadn’t wanted Ardyn to find out, but now that the older man knew…well, it felt good to be understood. 

“Needless to say, you don’t need to torture yourself.” Ardyn leaned in and rattled off an address in Noctis’s ear. “You can call on me anytime. I’ll receive you, my prince.” 

Sparks of joy filtered through Noctis’s orgasm-fried brain. He regarded Ardyn with wide, jubilant eyes. Then he squinted in disbelief. “But…you said—”

“Yes, I know.” 

Ardyn’s voice was jagged suddenly. His face seemed distantly thoughtful, even as his hand continued stroking Noctis’s scalp. 

“…Did you mean that?” Noctis pressed a kiss to Ardyn’s palm. He loved the feel of this man’s hands anywhere near his body, especially latched around his piece. “About keeping it to one night?” 

Quartz whinnied idly in the space it took Ardyn to answer.

“…At the time, yes,” he admitted. “But…upon further examination, perhaps I can be persuaded to a few more nights.” 

Noctis scrunched his face into a pout. “Just a few?” 

Clicking his teeth, Arydn thumbed the younger man’s lip. “Or a bit more. If you like.” 

“I do.” 

“Then you’ll have them.” Ardyn softly kissed Noctis’s lips. They stayed like that. A tender moment that stood in stark contrast to the needy fervor of a few seconds ago. 

When they parted, eyeing each other delicately, Ardyn broke into a smile. “Besides. I had considered calling on you again, if I’m honest. But I thought to leave it for at least some months before seeking you out.”

Oh, fuck this guy! He’d thought about and he hadn’t even tried to— Noctis huffed and punched Ardyn lightly on the shoulder.

“Asshole. You should have done it sooner. I had to wait two whole weeks before seeing you again.” He rolled his face around on Ardyn’s expansive chest. Just because he could now, finally. Relief and acceptance soaked into his spirit, making him feel playful and a bit petulant. “Two weeks is a long time!” 

Ardyn sucked in breath sharply. “You think two weeks is a long time?”

Without warning, he threw his head back and laughed uproariously. A dry, hacking kind of laugh that startled some of the nearby horses. Noctis might have been offended—clearly he was the butt of some joke in this guy’s mind—but he was actually fascinated by the sight. Ardyn looked like a grinning lunatic when he laughed. Almost like a demon. 

But the laugh was infectious. Noctis snorted too, even though he didn’t know what was so funny. (He’d really been suffering, damn it!)

When the laughter died, they held each other and said nothing for a few heartbeats. It seemed that even though two weeks was—by most accounts—not a long time, being together again was a welcome consolation.

Then the stable door opened. 

Both of them started. Noctis panicked, not sure whether to fling himself away or try to hide somewhere—but Ardyn decided for him. He pressed him close, squeezing him to his chest, and turned. Effectively hiding Noctis from view. They held their breath for a long, drawn out moment.

By the grace of god, the footsteps retreated as soon as they entered. Whoever they were, they hadn’t even come close to Quartz’s stall. Thank the heavens. It seemed it was just a groomer retrieving a tool from the front. So, the danger had safely passed.

Too close. The mood was successfully broken. They breathed again at last and separated, giving each other a good distance for propriety’s sake (kind of a laughable idea, considering what they’d just done together). 

Noctis peered curiously at Ardyn, watching the older man pull himself together. He couldn’t help noticing how Ardyn had been so quick to shield him—jumping in front like that. For sure, Ardyn was a fast thinker. Not only that, he’d been ready to take the heat. Noctis had to admit that was a turn on in itself; he appreciated a person who wasn’t afraid to get in the way of trouble. Nearly everyone else in his life tried to talk him down from the ledge, but it seemed Ardyn wasn’t afraid to stand at the precipice.

He felt another strong pull towards the older man.

Unconscious of that, Ardyn stared at him with a discerning eye. “Hmm. My dear you’ve made an absolute mess of yourself.”

Noctis looked down. Well, yeah. His buckskin pants were soaked darkly right on the groin. A wet obvious stain. Evidence of precisely what he and Ardyn had been up to. Shit…even Ignis might not be able to fix these—not to mention, he was about to go out to luncheon with the Baroness—well, that wasn’t going to happen now. At this rate, Noctis didn’t even know how he was getting home in such a state.

And it was exhausting, going through so much in the span of one afternoon. He had no idea what to do and he didn’t even want to think anymore.

Ardyn eyed the brush down bucket on the floor. He lifted it without question and said, “Don’t scream.” 

Suddenly Noctis was drenched in dirty stable water—soaked to his skin all over (masking the cum stains in a much larger, subsuming mess). The water wasn’t cold, but he was now, standing in the November air like that. Shock and anger rose to the surface and he sputtered.

Ardyn tossed the empty bucket away, reaching down for Noctis’s top hat. He fixed it squarely on the younger man’s soaked head. “I know, I know. Not the most dignified exit. But it’s the best we can do under these circumstances, Miss Caelum."

Noctis gasped. That name—yup, it had the same effect as it had that night. All over again. Drenched, filthy, cold, and disgruntled, Noctis now wanted nothing more than to go home with Ardyn. Roll around a bit more, just like they had. Like he really needed. Not just some touching but the whole thing—

“Time to go our separate ways, love.”

Naturally. 

They pressed their foreheads together. Noctis knew Ardyn was right. It sucked, but. There was a certain kind of sweetness, a rising excitement, to know that there might be more chances in the future. 

Before they parted, he made Ardyn promise to see him again. Sooner or later. …Preferably sooner.

“Yes, I promise, darling.” 

It was a good start. Good enough, anyway. And worlds better than where Noctis was just an hour ago. 

They agreed Ardyn would leave the stable first to ward off suspicion. Noctis watched him amble out the door with a brief tip of his hat. He wanted to make a joke about how Ardyn always seemed so—whatever. Honestly Noctis didn’t have the bandwidth for jokes right then. 

He led Quartz out of the stable, back to Rotten Row where he was meant to meet up with the Nox Fleurets. It took a few moments to remember how to walk…his legs were still a little weak from that climax. 

Luna gasped audibly when she saw Noctis looking like something the cat dragged in. Bits of straw and sloppy water stuck to him. 

“Noctis! What…my goodness…” Luna looked torn between wrapping her arms around her childhood friend and the unwavering upbringing she’d had that demanded she back away from such a sight. 

“Sorry, Luna.” Noctis had practiced this speech on his way over. “I…tripped over the brush down bucket in the stables. Messed up my clothes and everything.”

Ravus wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“But um…” This lie was infinitely better than the truth. Still Noctis felt a twist of guilt lying to Luna like this. “…maybe we’ll get lunch another day?”

She stared at him. Her eyes darkened for a moment, as though she could tell there was something else to this. Maybe she could see right through him…or maybe that was Noctis just projecting his own feelings. He couldn’t be sure when it came to Luna. 

Either way, they agreed to meet up again soon. On an occasion when they could expect to be in a ‘better state.’ Noctis agreed, not even entirely lying when he said he would call on her whenever he could. He owed her that much.

Then he began the long, slow walk home. Drenched and looking like a vagabond. Fortunately for him, it wasn’t the first time. Ignis probably wouldn’t do more than raise an eyebrow when he saw him, vaguely disapproving but silent as he went about the business of making Noctis presentable.

At least there would always be one predictable aspect of his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do people want more time period notes? About London Society and the Season and all that shit? Let me know ^_^
> 
> It is also perfectly acceptable to like this story for the sweet sweet sexy times between our guys. That is a big draw for me too :) :)


	4. The agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Ardyn have a knack for understanding each other's needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people were asking for historical notes last time, so here it goes! :D :D 
> 
> [The London Season](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Season_\(society\)#The_Seasons_in_London) was a time (during the 17th, and 18th centuries, peaked in the 19th century) when the upperclass elite traditionally held their large social gatherings. It went from February/March to August/September. A young woman looking for a husband, as Luna is, would have the best chance out and about during this time.
> 
> Also, I just realized that I never properly explained the meaning behind the horse’s name “Quartz.” Pretty much, the Regalia was also called the Quartz Regalia by game developers. Specifically, [the game Forza Horizon 3](http://forza.wikia.com/wiki/Quartz_Regalia) used this name when they promoted FFXV by giving the players access to the Quartz Regalia luxury car.
> 
> And I’m sorry, but I just love the idea of Ardyn reading [Blake](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake). They’re specifically referencing some of [Blake’s mythology](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake%27s_mythology) here; “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell,” “Visions of the Daughters of Albion,” and “The Book of Thel.” The last poem is a quote from “The School Boy” from “Songs of Experience.”
> 
> Any references that might be a spoiler for the chapter will go at the end. ^_^ Enjoy!

**Chapter Four: The agreement**

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_10 November, 1856  
_ _Wednesday - Evening_

Ardyn charged through the front door of Engheld House, stripping off his hat and coat in the same movement. Bursting with impatience and a put-upon sort of weariness he wore as naturally as his own skin. It had been an…interesting day. Fun, yes. If unexpected. By this time, Ardyn just wanted to sit by the fire with his feet up. Read that book with the strange engravings, the one he’d had his nose buried in for the past several days.

This Blake fellow might be on to something. With those ‘memorable fancies’ of his. After all, Ardyn was no stranger to ‘the road of excess.’ Nor was he a stranger to ‘the stones of Law.’

Really though, unorthodox religiosity aside, London was way too cold right now. Had it always been like this? Chilly to the bone even in November?

Ardyn shucked off his boots and trudged into the living room. He collapsed into the over-stuffed armchair by the fireplace, hugging himself and grumbling about why in hell Ulldor had not started the fires already. 

The cold made Ardyn irritable. Not to mention, Engheld—the house of his childhood, where he had memories as far back as his toddler years—was dark and bare these days. No more a home to him than a stranger’s barnyard. Or the middle of the ocean.

He had no love for this place. 

Suppressing another shiver, Ardyn buried his scruffy face in the palm of one hand. Scratching gratuitously at his scalp, and in the process making his already unruly red hair stand on end. His hair felt gritty, perhaps a little dirty. Gentleman of his social standing bathed more often. Once a day, even, some of them (god only knew why). Ardyn was still getting used to that. 

Clean, soft skin. No one—man, woman, child or any variation thereof—had skin as soft as that kid. Like cream, or the silk stuff on top of a decorative pillowcase. His cheeks were that soft, so were his lips. And, his nether-cheeks…those cushiony little handfuls. Ardyn had not forgotten what that kid’s ass felt like. In his hands, and wrapped tightly around his cock—

“Mmmmm…” 

Ardyn exhaled with a long, slow smile as he remembered Noctis. Those pleading blue eyes. Sharp as a knife when he first caught sight of him on Rotten Row, filled to the brim with jealousy and hate. Ardyn nearly got whiplash from that look! But then, later, when they were alone together in the stable…oh, Noctis’s face had practically split apart at the seams with such neediness and undisguised want. Face still wet with tears. Every time Ardyn closed his eyes, he remembered that face. He suspected it would stay with him for a long time. 

Opening his eyes again to the darkness of Engheld’s stripped living room, Ardyn tried to compartmentalize the feelings he had surrounding that cocksure, deliciously attractive young man. On the one hand, having an infuriatingly beautiful specimen like Noctis at his beck and call was delightful. Even now, in the blistering cold of this wretched townhouse, Ardyn could feel warmth swirling in his stomach as he remembered that boy’s face. Noctis was demanding, but so, so pitiable. All of that boy’s noble-bred arrogance bended like tall grass in a stiff breeze under Ardyn’s touch. 

It was intoxicating. The tips of Ardyn’s fingers itched as he considered the things he would do to Noctis the next time they met. He could have the boy ass-up in the middle of Trafalgar Square if he pushed hard enough. In fact, he just might. 

But then, on the other hand…well. Ardyn really shouldn’t. Technically speaking, he shouldn’t be anywhere near Noctis. A relationship with that boy was antithetical to everything he hoped to accomplish in London. That went without saying. Hours, minutes, seconds he spent fooling around with Noctis was time wasted. A distraction at best—if an exceedingly pleasurable one.

“Hnnh.” Ardyn scratched his head harder, clumps of some black crusty substance falling to his shoulders as a result. 

So he had a…small problem. Not quite a dilemma yet—not even a proper fix, nor a spot of unpleasantness. Just a…bump in the road. Yes. Slight jostling of the applecart. Not an upturn.

He could handle this. 

Heavy footsteps across the hall alerted Ardyn to Ulldor’s presence. He turned to face his manservant (well, insofar as Calligo could be called such) with a knowing, glaring kind of smile. 

“Evening, Caligo,” Ardyn began, eyeing the silver tray in his servant’s hands. “The house is cold enough to sustain life in the Antarctic. Didn’t I say five o’clock?” (Of course he had. The fires were supposed to be roaring by 5:30 at the latest.)

The black-haired, heavy-set man in the worn butler’s livery did not even flinch under the harsh words. He just shrugged, set the tray down on the end table next to Ardyn, and lifted the lid. A (slightly cold) flaky meat pie sat innocently underneath. The smell of coriander and game meat (the unnameable kind sold in the butcheries near the docks) rose to meet him. Standard fare. But something that Ardyn at least found palatable around here.

He picked up his fork thoughtfully. “Thank you. Can you at least turn up the lamps, man?” 

Again Ulldor shrugged. Instead of following those instructions, he reached for an oil lamp near the window and brought it closer to Ardyn so that his master could see his food clear enough. Oil lamps brought next to no warmth. But they were cheaper to light than the house’s gas lights. All you needed was a set of matches.

Ardyn slid his fork into the pie, catching Ulldor’s point. They were not exactly graced with an excess of funds. Money was becoming increasingly tight. They’d been forced to sell some furniture just to keep themselves flush these days. ‘Liquidated,’ as Ardyn liked to say. 

Still, Ulldor commented anyway. “Low on blunt, cove, ey-o.” he muttered darkly. “Black diamonds gone dicky.”

At that, Ardyn glanced at the bucket near the fireplace. Here again, Ulldor was right. They were running low on coal. And the winter was fast approaching. They needed to save what they had for the really cold days coming. 

A sigh escaped Ardyn. He didn’t really want to think about that. Good thing Ulldor still had his head on straight. Yet again, Ardyn found himself grateful for the other man’s presence. There was something to be said about a friendship that had lasted as long as theirs had. 

He swallowed some of the pie. Damn, really was cold by now. He wondered when the housekeeper had left. She was hardly live-in; she only came on Wednesdays and Fridays (that was all they could afford to pay her). But she was welcome assistance—she took care of the grocery shopping and made decent meals that could be reheated on her days off. Plus, she was great conversation. Ardyn was a little disappointed that he’d missed her for the day.

“Bang up to the mark, that dog’s eye,” Ulldor remarked. “Beauty fly mollisher you got there.” 

Ardyn nodded, pleased that Ulldor agreed with his opinion of the housekeeper. He knew they got along fine (and that was really saying something for a person like Caligo). 

“And those up in the stirrups mollishers on Swell Street? What’s the John Dory?”

The pie was beginning to lose its taste. Ardyn dropped his fork and poured himself a glass of whatever was in the crystal decanter on the mantle. It was too clear to be brandy but at least it smelled like alcohol.

“The sisters?” Ardyn shook the glass to clear it and took a big gulp. Ah, the bittersweet taste of juniper. Gin. He exhaled around the aftertaste. “Didn’t work out, I’m afraid.” 

Ulldor stood there in silence for a few more moments. Disapproval radiated off of him in waves. Ardyn could feel it well enough without having to see the look of dark disappointment in Ulldor’s sunken eyes.

Yes, today was an opportunity wasted. That was easy to admit. Although, when Ardyn allowed the gin to settle in his stomach, he found that really he had no regrets. Fondling Noctis in the stable had felt good—it wasn’t part of the plan, no. But it was _good_. Fun. What Blake in all his heresy would call the ‘edification of the soul.’ Pleasure as enlightenment and all that.

Ardyn could not bring himself to be disappointed. He wasn’t even angry. In fact, knowing that Noctis had been out there this whole time pining after him—oh, dear lord. Was Noctis laying awake at night imagining the time they’d had together? Trying and failing to please himself the way Ardyn had—alright, alright. Yes that was a little over the top. But it made Ardyn’s mouth water to think about. His sweet, inexperienced young thing…begging to be exploited…

When he concentrated, Ardyn could smell Noctis on his clothes. The freshly washed, vaguely floral scent. Like ivy. So unique for a man. A smell that had lingered with Ardyn for a full two days after their first encounter. Now he was smelling it all over again. That boy with the dark hair and the thin, scowling lips. Twisting his face in the most exquisite way when Ardyn brought him off. So easily! A few squeezes over clothing—last time, from just some light suckling on his nipples. Noctis’s body was _made_ for him. Ardyn wanted to capitalize on that.

He sucked his teeth and adjusted himself in his trousers. Damn. That—a boy spilling in his pants for the chance to be with him—really was Ardyn’s Achilles’ heel. Anyone who knew him, really knew him, would agree.

Sure, yes, he had been sincere when he said that he meant to keep it to a one night stand. At first. Then after a few days with Noctis’s taste on his tongue, Ardyn had been forced to consider sniffing the young man out again. Not right away, of course. That would be far too eager for a man in Ardyn’s position. The proper amount of time to wait would be at least a month, maybe two if Ardyn wanted to stretch it out a bit longer for amusement (wasn’t sex always better after a long period of pining?). And then—as if put there by the Fates—Noctis had appeared in Rotten Row that afternoon. Ardyn could tell right away that Noctis was trying to woo that blonde-haired girl. Even if it was arranged. 

And yet, somehow, through a rather outlandish demonstration on Noctis’s behalf (probably the young lad’s modus operandi, now that Ardyn thought about it), he had wound up alone with Ardyn in the stables. Jerking and screaming from the older man’s attention. 

Ardyn took another sip of gin to keep himself from licking his lips like a deviant. Noctis was not a run of the mill fuck. No. Ardyn needed to accept that if he was planning on meeting the young man again. Which he was.

Ardyn had not been tricked in years. So, so many years. And then that day in Ravenscourt Park—he really had thought he was flirting with a woman. To discover that Noctis was a man, that he had successfully pulled the wool over Ardyn’s eyes…well. The older man had been so drawn to him he hardly even realized what he was doing until they were in the carriage together. It was whirlwind of lust and attraction, followed by a night of pure debauchery. 

The gin on Ardyn’s lips went dry. It stung him where the skin was chapped, but he did not even notice. His mind was occupied with thoughts of Noctis. Yes. That boy was a siren luring him deeper into the sea of this madness. The ultimate temptation—Ardyn would be lying if he said he didn’t still imagine the way Noctis looked in violet muslin, with rouged lips. Prettier than any man had any right to be, no doubt. In men’s clothes, Noctis looked quite tempting as well (those pants were rather tight, weren’t they?). But slightly subdued. Dressed as a man, Noctis was like a fireplace with much of its air sucked out. Burning low. Not the roaring flame he was dressed as a woman. 

Of course, Ardyn kept all of Noctis’s feminine clothing in his dresser. He’d planned on pawning it in the beginning (the dress was probably worth a fortune). But he just never got around to it. Every time he gazed at that dress, he remembered what Noctis looked like wearing it. The modest curve of his imaginary breasts, cock hard as a rail underneath all the crinoline. And of course, the cloying smell of ivy that wafted from all his underthings…Ardyn was a red-blooded man, after all. He’d taken the liberty of…surveying the clothes Noctis left behind. For his own purposes.

It got him so excited. His stomach nearly cramped from arousal, wanting to see Noctis in that dress again. Flouncing around like the most dignified woman, secretly the most wanton whore underneath all those layers…

Getting carried away, Ardyn pinched the bridge of his nose to reign himself in. Yes, Noctis unleashed a swell of dark desire in him. Something Ardyn had not felt in years. So much of his life—for, god, probably close to five or six years—had been bent on the trials of money and the bare necessities of living. Now there was Noctis. Unearthing sore, hidden places of hunger inside Ardyn. 

Testing his self-control. 

Ulldor shifted his weight, causing the floorboards to creak underneath him. A reminder of reality that made Ardyn narrow his eyes in distaste.

“Don’t get qock’d,” Ulldor advised quietly. “Remember the Drummond. Good as caz, you said.” 

Ardyn sucked down some more gin. Yes of course he remembered the plan. And he remembered how he said it was foolproof and the whole thing. Yes, yes, yes. They were still on track for all that. Even if Ardyn had begun a little…detour. 

Hell. At this point, his hands were practically tied behind his back. He needed to see Noctis again. To fuck him. To see how far they could take it. There was so, so much more he wanted to do to that boy. Perverted things. Nice things. Things that would make Noctis choke on his own drool, begging for Ardyn’s cock. Even some things that would just be interesting (when was the last time he’d had interesting things in his life?).

Were they ill-advised things? Most certainly. 

But Ardyn was never great at taking advice.

__________________________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_1 December, 1856  
_ _Thursday - Evening_

They began a sort of…thing. Noctis was not sure what to call it. Even between a man and a woman, what did you call it when you got together a few times a week to fuck each other senseless? It wasn’t a _relationship_. No, a relationship implied courting, official announcements were involved, as well as some type of commitment. Whatever Noctis and Ardyn had was far from that. 

But it was pretty great. 

Okay, okay. It was more than that. The thing Noctis had with Ardyn was by far the best thing that had ever happened to him. Probably not from an objective standpoint, but personally? Sexually? Just on a purely human level? Yes. A thousand times yes, without any question.

Noctis loved spending the night with Ardyn. More accurately, he loved being fucked by Ardyn. He loved sucking Ardyn’s fat cock and getting his own dick sucked in turn by a pair of smirking lips and a tongue that knew exactly what it was doing. He loved getting his ass eaten out by Ardyn’s devilish mouth. He loved getting on all fours and being pounded into the mattress. He loved laying on top of Ardyn and rubbing their pricks together with a bit of slick. He loved Ardyn slamming his dick in between Noctis’s closed legs, stroking Noctis’s cock with his own until they both came with a harsh shout.

He loved kissing Ardyn. So hard that he forgot to breathe. He loved burying his fingers in Ardyn’s hair and pulling—he loved when Ardyn got mad at that, then did the same thing to him. He loved the expressions on the older man’s face whenever they fucked—Ardyn could go from angry, to furious, to amused, to lost in pleasure all in a matter of moments. Noctis watched him with steadfast determination. Committing to memory all the looks Ardyn possessed. 

Sleeping with Ardyn was the best decision Noctis had ever made (in spite of whatever consequences lay down the line, although so far there had been none). Even when they weren’t just having sex—which, to be fair, was the thing they did most of the time at Engheld House—Ardyn was…fun. Noctis liked talking to him. He liked Ardyn’s strange way of talking, his odd (nearly foreign) opinions on this and that. 

He liked listeningto Ardyn talk about the books he was reading—Noctis had never been much of a reader himself. He didn’t have the patience for books. But Ardyn? This guy was what you would call ‘well-read.’ Literary, even. Whenever Noctis passed out from a particularly rough round of sex, he would wake to find Arydn’s attention fixed on the pages of some raggedy text. A different one every time. Some of the covers were engraved with images. Frightening ones; men and women swirled together to look like the strokes of wind. Demons, gods. Biblical things. Noctis peered at the books curiously but usually ended up jealous of the attention they were getting before he could ask what they were about.

Once he picked up one of Ardyn’s books while his lover was in the loo. He glanced through the pages and found that he couldn’t understand a word of what was written there—the imagery was too vivid. When Noctis read about energy and eternity, he could not think how any of applied to actual living. Yet, Ardyn seemed so captivated with this author. William Blake. A name Noctis recognized after days spent lounging together in bed (Ardyn reading and Noctis swirling his fingers over the older man’s myriad tattoos). What was so special about Blake? 

“Why don’t you try reading one of his books for yourself?” Ardyn suggested one day, after Noctis started moaning about wheels and harmony and how it didn’t make any sense to him. 

Noctis shrugged. His ass was still sore from the night before (Ardyn never went easy on him, and Noctis wouldn’t have it any other way), so he moved slowly putting on his clothes (he had gotten better at that, after many mornings spent away from the assistance of a valet). 

“Here.” Ardyn plucked a book from the precarious pile on his nightstand. “Try this. _Visions of the Daughters of Albion._ You might find you have something in common with the young female protagonist.” 

Noctis’s ears perked up. Ardyn thought he had something in common…with a woman? That was…huh. Heart-racing, Noctis took the book. He gazed at the engraved cover, a rendition of a naked woman chained by the hands to a hogtied beast. He couldn’t imagine how he had anything in common with a woman like that—but when he went home, Noctis found that he read the whole book in one night. 

“Oothoon has a pretty shitty life, huh,” Noctis remarked the next time he and Ardyn were together (after they spent a rousing two hours tussling in bed). “But I mean…she gets around.”

Ardyn shrugged. “Some would say she gets punished for being free with her sexuality. And for being a woman.” 

Noctis wrinkled his nose at the idea. “No way, how is that fair?” He glanced up at Ardyn curiously. “…Do you think that?’

“Not at all.” Ardyn held his arms out wide, stretching the tattoos on his torso. “I see the book as the critique of traditional marriage that it is. Well. ‘Marriage,’ as such, and…the values our society puts on gender. The idea that men and women have a role, and their fulfillment of that role is interchangeable with their worth as a person. I find Blake’s criticism of that kind of thinking to be spot-on.”

Noctis turned the book over in his hands. He thought about that, about Oothoon and Bromion. “…Can I keep this for a little while?”

Eyebrows raised, Ardyn broke into a wide, pleased smile. “Yes, of course. And here, read this too.” He pulled out a copy of _The Book of Thel._ “Some more food for thought, if you like.” 

Then, he dragged Noctis to bed and laid him out on his back. Naked, exposed, waiting for him. The young man’s cock was up, straining towards Ardyn as he laid down on top of him. Covering his flesh with his own. “Now. Let’s see if we can’t get to the bottom of this thirst for knowledge you have…” 

Slowly, Noctis got used to the…strange atmosphere in Engheld House. He always asked Nyx to drop him off a few blocks away so that there was never any direct connection between him (his family, the Caelums by extension, through use of their private carriage) and Ardyn. He’d walk straight up to the front door and wait for Ardyn or the mute Ulldor to greet him. Even Ulldor, with his brusque nature and wordlessness became normal after a few weeks of the same routine.

Noctis also met Ardyn’s part-time housekeeper, a woman named Aranea Highwind. She had long silver hair which she kept tied back, and she always wore a subdued, all-black version of a maid’s uniform. It made her look older and younger at the same time—to the point that Noctis had no idea how old she really was. But he liked her. Unlike Ulldor, she was free with her words. She always made conversation with Noctis when they ran into each other. 

“Look who it is,” Aranea would say, a smile springing to her rouged lips. “Nice to have you back here, prince.” She always called him some kind of name—Sleeping Beauty was another popular one (for…obvious reasons).

He didn’t mind the teasing. He was comfortable around servants because of the environment he’d grown up with—no matter how much Regis asked him to keep a respectable distance, Noctis’s best friends were members of the staff. So talking with Aranea came easily to him. 

…Much better than the sallow-faced, silent stare he received from Ulldor every time they met. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Aranea said, waving the Ulldor away with one delicately boned hand. “He’s uh…well….just, don’t worry about him. You’re good.” 

Noctis didn’t ask too many questions. For one, his reputation lay in the servants’ hands. They both knew that he and Ardyn were sleeping together. Once, Ulldor walked in on Noctis and Ardyn kissing each other breathless, Noctis’s legs wrapped around the older man with abandon, in the foyer. It happened on a night when they had been apart for a little longer than usual—Noctis had been busy entertaining Luna at the estate (much to Regis’s delight). So, when he finally saw Ardyn again it felt like it had been _forever…_ he attacked his older lover with open-mouthed kissing before any modicum of self-restraint came to mind.

So yeah, Ulldor walked in on them. Noctis practically combusted with embarrassment—someone had actually seen them together!—but Ardyn seemed as if he could not care less. 

“Pardon us, Caligo,” the older man said flippantly.Permanent smile on his lips. “We were just heading upstairs.” 

Saying nothing, as always, Ulldor tightly bowed out of the room. He didn’t even spare them a second glance over his shoulder. There was nothing on his rugged elderly man’s face but the usual amount of contempt. A disdain for things in general, not necessarily crimes of unnatural passion.

Ardyn nuzzled Noctis’s ear and told him to relax. “I have not known Caligo to speak to anyone outside this house—about anything, nonetheless about private matters. Your secret is safe, love.” 

There was good stock in tightlipped serving staff, even those that were so tightlipped they didn’t speak to their houseguests. But Noctis eventually realized that Ulldor was the least of their problems. 

Aranea knew about them, too. She found them curled up together in bed one monring. Noctis—humiliated yet again—threw the sheets over his head and decided to let Ardyn do all the talking.

“Forgive us, Miss Highwind,” Ardyn drawled, stretching out his naked chest. Baring his tattoos (shocking!) to his housekeeper. “We’re laying about this morning.”

“I can see that,” she replied curtly. “Guess I should bring up a tray of breakfast in bed, like the lords and ladies get.” Before she left, she sniped, “And you can come out of there, Caelum. Not like I don’t know it’s you. Take it easy, alright? Christ, what do you think I was born with my eyes closed…?”

She was right, naturally. It wouldn’t be hard for anyone serving in Engheld House to be aware what was going on between them. Noctis had literally no business with Mr. Izunia, and they spent roughly 90% of their time together in the master bedroom. At the end of the day, it was just lucky that Ardyn only had two servants (one and a half, really, considering Aranea only worked two days a week). Although, it did make living conditions in Engheld a little…rough. They needed to reheat Aranea’s old dishes if they ate in house, or else Ardyn (yes, Ardyn himself) whipped something up using whatever ingredients they had. Mostly pan fried steaks. Which were delicious, but Noctis sometimes missed the extravagant meals he was fed at the estate.

Still, roughing it a little was a small price to pay for the mind-blowing sex. The uncountable orgasms. The feeling of freedom he got being around Ardyn. 

He did ask, once, why Ardyn kept Ulldor around. “Is he a friend of the family? Someone whose been around the house for years?”

Ardyn’s eyes turned sharp, the way they usually did when Noctis touched upon something he did not want to talk about. “No, Caligo has no connection with my family. Thankfully, I must say. He’s…a personal friend.” 

Personal friend. Noctis didn’t know the specifics, but he understood the relationship well enough. After all, his closest relationship in the world was with Ignis and they were technically nothing more than master and servant. People wouldn’t understand, but Noctis knew without even having to wonder that Ignis would always be there for him.

Which is why he told Ignis everything fairly soon after he started spending time with Ardyn on the regular. “I’m…sleeping with him, Ig,” Noctis said bluntly while Ignis dressed him for the morning after a relaxing bath.

The valet stopped in his tracks for a moment. Then he continued, speaking in an even, unbothered tone (the practiced manner of the most loyal servants), “Mr. Izunia, you mean.” 

“…Yeah.” 

Ignis nodded curtly, slipping a waistcoat around Noctis. “I see.” 

He was far from surprised. To Ignis, this turn of events was the natural conclusion to what happened that fateful October day. In a lot of ways, Ignis was actually relieved. If Noctis had slept with this man Izunia once with no repercussions, then it stood to reason that his master could carry on a clandestine relationship with him and maintain a reasonable level of trust. At least Izunia didn’t seem to be a man interested in anything other than sex—not yet, anyway. Sex was easy, and something Noctis could freely give. The attachments that normally came after the fact? Well…they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

“Here.” Ignis left for a moment and returned with a small pouch. He opened the pouch for Noctis and showed him several vials of natural oil and different soaps. “Stay healthy, Master Caelum,” Ignis advised strongly. He passed the pouch to him.

Noctis was stunned into silence. Not only did Ignis know what was needed between two men having sex—he was making sure that Noctis was prepared. That was…pretty embarrassing! And yet, it was also the most sincere form of acceptance anyone could have given him. All his faith proven true, Noctis had no choice but to wrap Ignis in an extremely inappropriate hug.

“Thanks, Specs,” Noctis murmured, squeezing his valet tight. “I…damn, man, what would I do without you?”

“That I don’t know, sir.” Ignis cautiously returned the hug. “Let us be glad you may never have to find out.”

Redoubling his embrace, Noctis tried to contain all the love he had for Ignis. If nothing else, Noctis could never say life had cheated him out of a true friendship. Even if that friendship arose out of the traditionally cautious relationship between a man and his valet. 

With Ignis’s blessing, Noctis felt as if he didn’t need to answer to anyone about what he did with his days and nights at Engheld House. Regis was reasonably content with the effort Noctis seemed to be putting into his lackadaisical courtship of Luna. On the whole, spending time with Luna again (even if it was under possibly false pretenses) was enjoyable. Noctis did not know if he would—or could—ever marry her, but even if he didn’t, he had no doubts that Luna would be happy in life. She would find someone out there—for sure—who appreciated her for the special person she was. And going to lunch once a week wasn’t an official marriage proposal or anything.

So he was in the clear. 

And he was going to take full advantage of what he had. Every last bit of it.

…Ardyn’s strong, welcoming arms at the end of the day. Or the beginning, depending on when Noctis could convince Nyx to drive him. Those arms were the best place to be. Addictive, honestly. Ardyn could hold Noctis tightly, gather up all the stray pieces of him, bind them together into one, only to throw him down and fuck him brainless. Make him come apart at the seams.

It couldn’t be right, what they were doing together. It was too good. Too much. But they kept going. Meeting day after day. 

They learned each other. Many walls came down. They got a point where satisfaction and honesty were one in the same thing. 

One night, when Noctis lay panting underneath him, Ardyn paid particular attention to the inner part of Noctis’s upper thigh. Licking and nibbling. Dragging his tongue over and over on the same spot. Driving Noctis to the point of lunacy.

“A-ardyn!” he wailed, thrashing beneath that rough, teasing tongue. “W-what are you doing?” 

But Ardyn just chuckled. He grazed his teeth on that expanse of sensitive skin, pointedly not giving any attention to Noctis’s weeping cock. He could see of it, of course. He could see the way Noctis’s manhood twitched every time Ardyn breath caressed the wet flesh on his thighs. He loved it—Ardyn could have stayed like that indefinitely until Noctis came all over himself from just this. This and maybe the _gentlest_ touch right on the tip of his cock. Ardyn would bring him to that point of stimulation. 

He _wanted_ to.

“Ardyn, please!” Noctis screamed. He arched his back to bring his throbbing length closer to Ardyn’s face. “Lick me…! I need it…” 

“I am licking you, darling,” his velvety voice taunted. He licked all the way to very edge of Noctis’s groin, where his pubic hair met the line of his thigh.

Noctis whimpered, lost to the pleasure Ardyn was giving him. From so little (as if licking bare flesh were a novelty, when it was something they did nearly all of the time). “No…come on…I want your mouth on my cock…” 

Ardyn hummed in satisfaction. He loved how his boy never shied away from saying exactly what he wanted—Noctis was completely open to him when they were in bed. Perfection.

“I know, I know,” he rumbled.

Ardyn lifted his head, staring up from the boy’s groin with a look of…something close to adoration. Very, very close. As close as those golden eyes might be capable of. 

Their eyes locked for a moment. Noctis had a feeling something was happening, but he didn’t know what. Ardyn was in a mood. Playful—more so than usual—and demanding. Worked into a fervor. Noctis laid there helplessly and tried to think of a way to make Ardyn touch him.

He knew that Ardyn liked to hear him beg. “Please, Ardyn, please…please…pleasepleasepleaseplease!” He unleashed a stream of pleas, watching as Ardyn’s lofty, cat-like face dissolved into hunger. 

A growl escaped the older man’s lips and he buried his face in Noctis’s stomach. Kissing and sucking the skin, as if he were actually going to eat him. Noctis knew he had struck a nerve. He reveled in victory, still squirming with incessant need.

“I will, Noct, I will…” Ardyn forced himself up. He eyed Noctis with a stern promise, “I am going to make you cum on my cock, as hard as you can, until you’re a babbling mess.” 

Noctis threw his arms over his head in submission. “Yes! Go on, do it, I want it…” 

“I will!” Ardyn sat up with a snarl. Noctis moaned when he heard it, knowing from experience that he was about to get it rough just like he wanted. 

“But first…” 

To his shock, Ardyn left the bed and opened the nightstand drawer next to Noctis’s head. He rummaged around for something, didn’t find it, cursed foully under his breath, and stomped angrily out of the room. Down the stairs, all the way to the front door where his great coat hung on the rack.

“Wha…but…?” Noctis sat naked on the bed, staring at the empty space where his lover had just been. 

He really hoped Ulldor was in bed. Because the master of the house had suddenly chosen to traipse around the halls in naught but his skin. …Although actually, Ulldor probably wouldn’t be surprised either way. Something about their relationship led Noctis to believe there was very little Ulldor hadn’t seen before. 

As soon as he’d left, Ardyn returned. His cock had not flagged in the slightest; it bounced merrily as he stalked toward Noctis with something in his hand. He dangled it on his fingers in the light of the gas lamp. It looked like a long ribbon (actually there were two of them). The middle of the ribbon had an intricately woven black lace pattern that contrasted elegantly with the solid white satin of the outer edges. Noctis had never seen one like that before. He tilted his head curiously, automatically drawn to the beautiful floral pattern of the lace. Without realizing, he lifted one hand, imagining the feel of the delicate satin and lace on his fingertips.

“What’d you get?” Noctis asked, catching some satin in his hand. It felt as soft and cool as he imagined. “…Pretty…” 

Ardyn’s amber eyes gleamed in the dim light. “They’re garters.” 

“…Garters?” Noctis was torn between a gasp and a blush. Of course he knew what those were—the secret clasp hidden among women’s underthings to hold up their stockings. They were mostly a thing of the past; these days thick elastic welts were sewn into the top hem of most stockings to make them adhere to the leg. But these were the classic style. They tied in the back or on the side. 

They were finery, Noctis thought. Even if the satin looked cheap, and the lace was probably done by a machine. They were still lovely.

And sexy. Noctis had once been with a woman who wore garters. She was someone he met in a pub. He didn’t know her, not even her name for sure. But he had never forgotten the look of those bespoke lace ties wrapped around her thigh. He kept his eye on them the entire time they were fucking (in the back room of the tavern, on a favor). 

Ardyn saw the interested, shy look on his lover’s face. He cupped a hand underneath Noctis’s chin. “…Should I put them on you?

The blush travelled through the rest of Noctis’s body. His cock twitched incorrigibly. “On me?”

“Yes, on you, Miss Caelum.” Ardyn chuckled and pushed him down on his back. He smoothed his hands up Noctis’s left calf, all the way to the top of his thigh and back again. Worshipping the pale, silken limb. “You are the one of us with legs beautiful enough to be adorned.” 

“…Okay.” Noctis gently let his hands fall in place over his head. A quiet submission this time. He wanted it—oh yes, his pulse thrummed dangerously fast. He wanted to feel that satin and lace on his skin, to see it there…so much that it kind of scared him.

“Excellent.” Ardyn kissed his thighs again, then started the business of gently tying the garters in place. 

In truth, Ardyn had been waiting to do this for some time. He bought the garters last week on the cheap at a pawn shop. He’d been imagining Noctis wearing them, bending over for him. It was a very fruitful fantasy—for the days when Noctis was too busy to come over or their schedules didn’t match. Now, having the boy spread out before him…Ardyn thumbed his cock cheekily, a reminder to keep himself in check.

Noctis gasped when he felt the satin on his skin. Ardyn’s touch was so gentle and he tied them so lightly. The feel of the garters holding firmly to his thighs was a tease all on its own. 

“Ah…” Ardyn sighed happily when he finished straightening the lace. “They look lovely on you.” He dragged Noctis into a sitting position. “What do you think?”

“I…”

Noctis barely even recognized the sight of his own limbs. He looked…dainty. Tied with satin and lace like a porcelain doll. All done up, presented to Ardyn for his pleasure.

Oh, dear god. Arousal hit him like a match on dry wood. Igniting him all at once, head to toe, in one sweep. His cock leaked a steady stream of wetness, soaking the sheets underneath. His body trembled, legs flying to the side, spreadeagled to entice Ardyn into his embrace. Reaching for the older man with shaky fingers, an unspoken plea on his lips. 

This was more than a casual play at helplessness to spur Ardyn on. Noctis really needed him.

Growling, Ardyn laid in the space his lover made for him. He had prepared the Noctis already, so now he could just slide his cock right in. He held the young master’s legs open, gripping the backs of his knees. Keeping his pace slow and steady at first. He rocked into the tight ring of muscle that yielded to him comfortably now after so much practice. When he pushed through, into the soft space beyond, Ardyn moaned with abandon.

“There you are…” He thrust into Noctis with some force, as if punctuating his words, but he pulled out slowly. Testing to see how much Noctis could take—because he knew how utterly turned on his lover was right now. 

Ardyn grinned down at him. Cooing words he knew Noctis wanted to hear.

“My lovely, lovely girl…” 

Noctis threw his head back in pleasure. He was moaning and sobbing, overcome with the feeling of being filled when he was this excited. He fisted the sheets, his own cock slapping his stomach on each of Ardyn’s thrusts, spraying them with a little spurt of wetness each time. 

His voice grew higher in pitch as Ardyn fucked him harder. When he glanced down at the garters around his thighs, he remembered the woman he fucked that time. Now he imagined he was in her place, getting it rough from a stranger in the back room of a tavern—from Ardyn—who knew exactly what he wanted—

Orgasm destroyed him. His body felt like it had been passed through a fine mesh of pleasure and release. When he was finished spending wildly, his body went limp, eyes staring off into the distance as he forced air into his lungs. 

“Good girl,” Ardyn grunted. His teeth were clenched, and he had lost control of his thrusts. There was only the sharp taste of need now in every snap of his hips. Madly trying to reach his own end—

When Ardyn came, Noctis felt pulse after pulse of hot fluid filling him. More than normal, for sure. Enough that Noctis actually moaned when he felt it, because some of it leaked out the back of him. Lubricating the area and soothing the burn of skin against skin. They were still connected, breathing the same air and trying to see straight. 

After several minutes, Noctis was the first one to speak. “Holy fucking hell.” 

Ardyn rumbled a laugh, still lodged deep inside him. “I know.”

“Did you…know that would happen? …Like that?” Noctis pressed their foreheads together, reminded again that in some ways, Ardyn knew him better than he knew himself. At least when it came to sex.

They laid like that for several more minutes. Then Ardyn said, “I had some idea, darling.” 

Before Noctis could react, Ardyn snapped the garter on his thigh. And just like that, Noctis was instantly hard again. He wrapped his gartered legs around Ardyn’s waist, driving the older man into him firmly for another round.

There were more times after that. Once, Ardyn brought Noctis a pair of black stockings with lacy white clocking near the ankle. They fucked while Noctis wore them, gasping for attention. Ardyn stuffed one of Noctis stockinged feet into his mouth as he fucked him, driving Noctis insane with pleasure when he saw his beautifully adorned feet being worshipped by a man. 

Then another time, Ardyn had him wear the stockings and the garter together. As nature intended (well, sort of). He told Noctis to get on his hands and knees, head down. Of course Noctis complied, baring himself to Ardyn to the fullest extent. Before he fucked him, Ardyn grabbed a fistful of Nocts’s ass—right where it met the back of his thigh—and squeezed. _Hard_. Enough to leave a mark. 

Noctis squealed. The thrill of danger combined with the harsh excitement he felt being dressed in women’s underthings—before he could stop himself, Noctis dropped his forehead to the bed, presenting like some animal in heat (and very near to understanding the feeling). 

A shadow of some buried desire reared its head inside Ardyn. This boy’s ass. His cheeks were slightly spread from the way he held himself. Ardyn could just barely make out the tight, puckered swirl hidden in between. The place that he loved so much. Where he took his pleasure. Where Noctis wanted him right now, was begging on all fours to get a taste of his manhood. 

Something rich and thick swelled in his chest. Licking his chops, Ardyn slapped his palm against Noctis’s backside. Right on the fleshy part. Not hard—just enough to make a crisp, cutting sound. Enough for Noctis to feel a brief sting.

The young master cried out, lurching forward with the slap. “Ow—hey! Ah…” 

When Noctis turned around, eyebrows furrowed, Ardyn remembered himself. He grinned apologetically. “Sorry, miss, couldn’t help myself.” 

There was a furious light in Noctis’s eyes—but Ardyn was sure he could see a question as well. Vague, unvoiced. But there. 

_Are you going to spank me some more?_

Ardyn hesitated. _Only if you want me to, dear._

Yet, neither of them spoke those words aloud. Although many walls had crumbled between them, there were still miles and miles of distance to travel before they reached the point where they could say anything like that.

So, instead of trying to start a conversation about the slap or what any of it meant, Ardyn just canted his hips forward and fucked Noctis. As swiftly and skillfully as always. They both came—hard, well-earned, sweat dripping down their backs as if they were running a marathon—and that was the end of it.

He and Ardyn talked about many things together. London, Blake, Noctis’s friends, stories about the times Ardyn had spent abroad in foreign places like South Africa. But there were some choice things they did not talk about: For one, the slap. And also, Noctis’s desperate penchant for wearing women’s clothing.

Maybe there were some things—depraved, hidden truths of the world—that should not be spoken, Noctis thought. Besides, he didn’t really want to talk about it. He didn’t know what to say. Yeah, being fucked in stockings made him cum until he literally could not see. But so what? Plenty of people had kinks…and Ardyn seemed to get that. 

Just being allowed to wear that when they had sex was enough. What else could there be?

Weeks passed. Now it was already December. Time felt like it was moving quickly. They had no real deadline, but Noctis could not help worrying about the start of the Season. When that came, he might be forced to start courting Luna for real. Or at least to take a stand on the situation. 

December. Damn. 

Noctis was cleaning himself up, deciding to head home early tonight. Regis would be in the estate tomorrow looking to share breakfast with Noctis (they usually tried to get one breakfast in a week at least, just to catch up. Or something). Besides, Noctis had slept over the night before. He shouldn’t make it a habit, or some people might start asking questions about where exactly the young master stayed at night. No reason to start that.

Still, the goodbye part always felt weird. Noctis never wanted to actually leave Ardyn’s embrace. Especially after sex. Cleaning up and throwing on his day clothes was kind of the worst feeling. He would look over at Ardyn—already lost in a book, or else staring at him with muted interest—and wish more than anything that he could crawl back into bed. 

Now was one of those times. And Ardyn was staring at him with a bemused expression. 

Dressed all the way to his waistcoat, Noctis heaved a sigh and sat down next to him. Everything in his body language—from the slump of his shoulders to the downward pull of his pouty lips—said what Noctis was feeling.

_I don’t want to go home._

Smirking, Ardyn held his arms open, inviting Noctis in if he wanted. He did. Fully clothed, Noctis laid down in his lover’s arms. He rested his head on the older man’s chest and let out another breath. Maybe he could stay wrapped in these tattooed arms for just a little bit longer.

“You seem troubled, Noct,” Ardyn remarked, smoothing his lover’s feathery black hair with hand one. “Don’t tell me this wasn’t enough for you…” 

Noctis huffed a short laugh. As if he would ever get enough of this, sex with Ardyn. That was a fucking joke and they both knew it. 

Noctis curled closer to him. “It’s just…you know. Real life tomorrow.” 

“Real life…” Ardyn mused.

This was a third thing they didn’t talk about: The reality of their duties outside the bedroom. Whatever it was that called Ardyn away some mornings and the things Noctis needed to do when he spent days at the estate. Reality was not overly bright for either of them. Noctis knew Ardyn was struggling with money issues. He could see the inconstant sun-stains on the wall where furniture was blatantly missing, probably sold. Not to mention the fact that Ardyn really only had one outfit—with a possible choice between three sets of clean shirts and trousers. But he never brought that up with the older man because he didn’t want to embarrass him. In the same way, Ardyn knew Noctis was the young heir to a fortune. That came with many expectations. A wife, family, general success at nearly everything. Ardyn didn’t mention it because he felt Noctis didn’t need reminding of the pressure in the outside world. 

“How shall the summer arise in joy, or the summer fruits appear? Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, or bless the mellowing year…when the blasts of winter appear?” Ardyn recited meditatively.

“Tch.” Noctis looked up, happy to be reminded of this bizarre trait Ardyn had. The man could always find a line of poetry to describe his feelings. At the most opportune times, right before things got too emotional. “Don’t quote Blake at me right now, you weirdo.”

“Why, I’m not!” Ardyn clutched his chest. He seemed hurt. “Those were my own musings. Did they sound poetic to you?”

Huh. Noctis raised his eyebrows, legitimately impressed. He could have sworn there was some meter there, even though he was shit at poetry and whatever. “Oh, that was you, really? Wow, I didn’t think…”

“Mm no actually. That was Blake.” Ardyn grinned toothily as Noctis swatted his chest. “But it’s true that I am not at all looking forward to winter.” 

“….I know.” He settled back down, tracing the black sun pattern on Ardyn’s chest. Of course a man who only owned one coat would not love the idea of winter. 

Noctis wished he had a way to tell Ardyn that he understood. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he pitied Ardyn, or else just coming off as awkward. He’d never be able to offer Ardyn any kind of help, at least, without shaming him and casting the man into debtor’s disgrace. So instead, Noctis sat there dragging his finger over the crude ink in his skin. 

The silence around them became heavy. 

“Oh, fine!” Ardyn exclaimed, an echo of a laugh in his voice suddenly. “Since my young prince is so sullen, I guess I can show you the surprise I was saving for tomorrow.”

“…Hm?” Noctis frowned. This was random. Maybe kind of a joke? (Ardyn did have a kind of fucked up sense of humor sometimes.) 

In actuality, Ardyn just couldn’t contain the secret anymore. Especially when Noctis was bringing up all the depressing things in their lives. This was a special gift Ardyn had been fantasizing about giving to his young lover—and fantasizing was indeed the right word. 

“I got you something.” Light danced in Ardyn’s eyes. Sometimes those eyes caught the light and appeared angelic. Sometimes they reflected shadow, decidedly demonic. Right now they were somewhere in between—a fallen angel, perhaps. Good intentions tainted with impure lust.

Either way, Noctis was excited. He loved when Ardyn got him things. The last few times had been the garters and then the stockings. Both very…thoughtful gifts. Things they had gotten good use out of. Practically speaking.

“You did…?” A smile crept onto Noctis’s face. He couldn’t help it. “What did you get me?” 

Like a kid on Christmas. Maybe everyday for the nobility was Christmas, when you had people tripping over themselves for you. But then again…no. Ardyn knew that Noctis was really just excited to see what he would be wearing—because, yes, so far they had all been gifts of particular kind of clothing. Noct’s secret little fancy. 

Actually it was adorable.

Ardyn thumbed the side of Noctis’s mouth and said, “See for yourself. It’s hanging up in the chifforobe.” 

Immediately staring at the stand up closet near the wall, Noctis glanced between Ardyn and the chifforobe several times. As far as he knew, Ardyn only used the drawers to store his shirts and trousers. The closet may have held suit jackets, but Noctis had never seen any. So, getting the chance to look inside…felt strangely intimate. 

But Ardyn had asked him to do it. And there was that look in his eyes. Slowly, slowly absorbing more shadow as if his lust was overpowering him while they were sitting there. Shit, that was hot. 

So, Noctis chuckled awkwardly and went over to the closet. When he peered inside, his breath caught in his throat. 

The first thing he saw was the violet muslin dress he had worn the day they met. Hanging there was also his chemisette and his hoop skirt (he assumed the corset and pantaloons were in a drawer somewhere). The smell of the muslin—oh. Noctis ran his hand over the dress. 

He glanced warily back at Ardyn. “I…thought you pawned this. Or…something. I didn’t know you kept it.” 

“Of course I kept it,” Ardyn replied, tossing Noctis an incredulous look. Really didn’t this boy know his weaknesses by now? (Perhaps not.) “But that’s not what I got you. Push that aside, keep looking.”

Noctis frowned. Something else? He pushed the violet dress forward and found—

“Holy… _shit_ , Ardyn!” 

Now his lover was on his feet. Naked, of course, they had just finished making love (and Ardyn seemed to have very little compunctions about showing himself in all his tattooed glory once the first night was over). His eyes were shining darkly, teeth flashing in the light. He was as excited as Noctis had ever seen him.

“Let’s see if my guess was correct,” Ardyn wondered aloud. He reached into the closet and pulled out the second dress.

It was a dress in two parts. Made of glossy taffeta, subdued sapphire in color, with black lacing around the three-tiered flouncing in the skirt (as was the most recent fashion). Like the violet dress, the bodice on this was split down the middle enough that one would need to wear a chemisette underneath. Sort of like a mockery of a man’s suit, but much more bespoke and flattering to the bust. 

The dress was stunning. Slightly more modest in the sleeves than the violet day gown—but then, this was a dress meant for the winter months. A morning dress given life through the pattern work around the collar and down the bodice. A typical day gown any woman might wear—except, this dress was meant for Noctis.

He sputtered as Ardyn held up the bodice and skirt to Noctis’s body. Imagining how the ensemble might look on the young man. Apparently pleased, Ardyn nodded his head and laid the dress out on the bed. Fluffing the skirt to let the taffeta breathe. Strangely practiced with women’s things—but then again, was there anything Ardyn _wasn’t_ practiced with?

“Ardyn, how did you…buy this?” Noctis ran his hands up and down the sleeves, already intoxicated by the feel of the material. Even so, the question had to be asked.

Ardyn shrugged his tattooed shoulder, stretching the outline of stars on his bicep. “I liquidated a few assets,” he said casually. As if it were a boring affair. “Well worth it, I think. This dress will go fabulously with your eyes, my dear. I saw it in the fabric maker’s window and knew you must be the one to wear it."

Noctis was speechless. Ardyn had…bought this dress (at some cost to himself)…with him in mind specifically? Was he imagining Noctis shuffling around the house in all this taffeta—eager just to see him dress up again?

“Oh, and let’s not forget.” Ardyn reached into a drawer of the chifforobe and pulled out a blue satin bonnet of the same shade. “The final piece, naturally.” 

When Noctis saw that, he shook his head against the rush of ideas swarming his thoughts. “Ardyn, you have to return this. There’s no sense…”

A flicker of confusion passed over the older man’s face. Not a common sight.

“I mean…” Noctis was still playing with the sleeve of the dress. Unconsciously now. “What’s the point of spending your money on this, just to wear it in here where we can…mess around and stuff? Like, don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful but…we shouldn’t…”

Harsh laughter cut through the room. Ardyn shook his shaggy head in disbelief. “My dear boy, I didn’t buy this to play dress up in my bedroom.” His face smoothed into seriousness. “I bought it for you to wear out there. With me.” 

He gestured loftily towards the window. “In real life.”

All the things Noctis had been imagining sudden came rushing back. He’d pictured the exact same thing when he first laid eyes on this sapphire dress. Him, out around town, passing as the woman he had been that day. Everyone’s eyes on him, seeing not the man he was but the fictional character—the person Noctis wanted to be. 

With Ardyn as his escort. 

A spasm of excitement rippled through Noctis. Yes. Yes yes yes yes. That! He wanted that. The same old game—the one he had been daydreaming about ever since. The what-ifs and maybes thrown into the light at last. Ardyn saw the potential in him. He wanted the same thing. The act. That sexy, brilliant show they could put on for the rest of the world. Leaving the truth as something to be revealed only between the two of them. Alone, in the bedroom.

Noctis broke out into a wicked smile. “Are you…sure about this? Like, you want to do this for real?” 

“Oh yes.” Ardyn crossed the room so they were standing face to face. Noctis, clothed in his waist coat and trousers, Ardyn naked as the day he came, adorned only in ink. They were two different sides of the world—propriety and obligation, on Noctis’s side, thrust upon him like a set of chains, and Ardyn. From the side of ‘whatever the fuck I like.’ 

“Let me make this clear,” the older man continued. “I have every intention of being a true gentleman to you. Taking you on excursions through London, making you the most beautiful woman in town. The envy of all, as it were. Letting you glimpse into the life of whoever it is you become when you put on those clothes.” 

Noctis mouth hung open. He was hot and cold at the same time—Ardyn knew everything. Of course he did. And really, Noctis just wanted to get on his knees for that man right now.

“And yes, I have my reasons,” Ardyn continued. “One, because you are the most exquisite creature no matter what you wear. As a man or woman. But, you should know, as a woman you are… _peerless_.” 

The stress Ardyn gave to that last word sent chills up Noctis’s spine. Ardyn was not saying that just as flattery—or maybe he was (hard to tell with him). But the _way_ he said it…Noctis was forced into believing him. (He wanted so badly to believe him.)

“Also,” Ardyn reached out and took Noctis’s hand. He laced their fingers together, letting the roughness of his skin slide against Noctis’s smoothness. He brought his voice down to a visceral whisper. “I know how it excites you, my dear. I’ve seen you. And you must understand by now that whatever thrills you, is beneficial to me in the same way.” 

He kissed Noctis on the cheek. “If my lady desires it, I will take on the responsibility of providing her with whatever she needs.” 

…This was a dance. Seduction. The same tricks Ardyn used on him in Ravenscourt Park. Just by saying exactly what he wanted to hear…he could get Noctis to do anything.

If only that trick didn’t work so damn well.

Noctis laid his hands on Ardyn’s shoulders. Coquettishly. Like a woman asking for a dance. “Yes. I do desire that.”

“Then you’ll have it.” Ardyn responded in kind by tucking his hands into the space of Noctis’s lower back. Teasingly close to his ass. “This, and whatever else you like, my dear. Just name it.” 

Noctis huffed. He buried his face in the older man’s neck, practically purring. “Anything I want?”

“Yes, of course.” Ardyn kissed his forehead, marking him with the snakelike smile on his lips. “You need only ask.” 

Their contact broke for a moment as Ardyn took a step back. He held out his hand invitingly—a devil brokering a bargain. “So, what do you say? Are we agreed?”

“Agreed?” Noctis asked, not sure if he heard any caveats yet.

“Yes. You’ll wear that dress—for me, or for you, or for whatever reason you choose—and take me as your gentleman caller around London. The only downside for you is that you’ll have to take this old man as your chaperone when I’m sure a young girl like you wants to have the entire town at her disposal—”

Noctis stopped him by laying a hand on his chest. “Fine. I’m in. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Words dying on his lips, Ardyn clasped his hands around Noctis’s. “Just like that? You don’t even need to think about it for a bit?” (Of course he knew he didn’t, this was part of the ploy. Whatever ploy that was.)

“I think I’ve done enough thinking,” Noctis replied, eyeing the sapphire taffeta with a delighted gleam. All the heaviness he carried earlier was gone. “Let’s do it. Dress me up like a girl and let’s go for a walk.”

The frankness in that! Ardyn had to laugh. After a moment he caught himself, touching a finger to his brow as if something had just slipped his mind. “Oh, and I should mention: If we’re discovered, we’ll be arrested on the spot, prosecuted before a judge, and most likely hung by the neck until dead. Crimes against nature and buggery and all that.” He waved his hand at the ‘etc.’ that came at the end, including all the other moralistic crimes they would be committing. 

It was true. Completely. This—masquerading as the opposite sex—was a risk that could get them both hanged once people found out the truth: They were two queer men who used the masquerade as a kind of foreplay before sex—

But then, who said anyone needed to find out?

“Yeah, yeah. Naturally.” Noctis shrugged his shoulders. He had been legitimately intimidated at the idea of imprisonment and death (because he was mostly a sane person), but he would never show that in front of Ardyn. “So when do we start?”

Riddled with delight, Ardyn scooped Noctis into his arms and threw him on the bed. He bore down over him, kissing ravenously up the younger man’s neck. “Well. Considering that you’ll most likely need some help getting into that thing, I thought we’d wait until tomorrow when my housekeeper comes. She used to be a lady’s maid, so I’m sure she’ll dress you like a proper lady.”

Oh, shit. Noctis had no idea Aranea used to be a lady’s maid. He wondered why she stopped (after all, a lady’s maid was a job that could be held for life, higher in status than a part-time housekeeper, anyway)…but that was none of his business. Most importantly, he was goddamn excited at the idea of Aranea dressing him! She was so cool and calm. She definitely knew what she was doing. 

He loved this plan. 

That night, they fucked each other on the bed right next to the dress Noctis was meant to wear the next day. They were both stealing glances at the taffeta. Guilty as charged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The dress introduced in this chapter](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/42995371419747281/) :) :) [And the bonnet to go with it](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/cf/ae/e3/cfaee38e71ec1a89757f60b683e313de.jpg).
> 
> [The garters](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/532409987182508753/) and [the stockings](https://www.american-duchess.com/image/cache/data/edwardian-silk-stockings-black-1-600x600.jpg) too.
> 
> As for the outmoded slang Caligo Ulldor uses here, I don't want to translate it just yet because it'll spoil the reveal. Basically, Ardyn's backstory is going to be a kind of 'mystery' in this fic, with bits and pieces revealed here and there until the later parts. You may figure it out on your own, in which case yay for you! But I'm going to try to keep it spoiler free until the actual reveal chapter for people who want that.
> 
> Love and hugs and Victorian sexy times! <3 <3


	5. The walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today was the day--Noctis is trying to keep his cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art is happening!!!
> 
> [Fangirl shenanigans drew some beautiful art of Noctis in the blue dress!!](http://artistic-fangirl-shenanigans.tumblr.com/post/169940858926/it-is-finally-finished-jeejascoffee-at-long) I just love the way these bros are looking at each other ^___^ That cute blush. There's a scene in here I added for you, friend <3 
> 
> [Kazechama drew some gorgeous NSFW art for the sex scene in the last chapter!](http://kazechama.tumblr.com/post/169939529573/after-years-i-did-a-piece-in-only-pencil-it-was) And yes, the obligatory mention, that is a bonnet on his head ;) ;) Love you, kaze.
> 
> Now for some historical notes:  
> The famous regatta they’re referring to is [the Henley Royal Regatta](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henley_Royal_Regatta) held on the River Thames. It was one of the most exciting and well-attended events of the Season.
> 
> Rest of the historical references and clothing will be at the end!
> 
> Also there are some original characters in this fic. Any likeness to real people is unintentional! (Just a brief disclaimer because I'm using last names too)

**Chapter Five: The walk**

_Chiswick_  
_2 December, 1856  
_ _Friday - Morning_

“Noct, tell me more about the luncheon. Was Meryl there, Lady Lunafreya’s great aunt? Or was Ravus in attendance once more?” 

Regis and Noctis sat around the gargantuan breakfast table. Footmen were poised by the door and by the buffet bench. Ready to serve coffee, eggs, kippers, toast, and sausage as the masters required. Noctis had already eaten two plates—he needed his strength for the day ahead (and breakfast at Ardyn’s usually consisted of dry toast and jam, if Aranea were not present. If she was, then it was dry toast, jam, and coffee). On top of that, Noctis was shoveling food into his mouth to ease his excited stomach.

Today was the day. His feet wouldn’t stop bouncing in place (very rude for the breakfast table) and his fingers were clumsy in their eagerness. Dropping a serving fork, fiddling with a napkin, playing with the hemline of the tablecloth where Regis couldn’t see.

He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he just couldn’t help it! He wanted to jump right out of his skin—and run all the way to Kingston Upon Thames. Today was the day he wore the new dress—

“And I hope the Baroness was agreeable enough,” Regis mused from across the table. “She tends to get a tad…overprotective when she sniffs out the intentions of a young man. Properly arranged though they may be.”

All in all, it seemed as if Regis were mostly oblivious to Noctis’s state. He stared down at his newspaper, processing the print but not responding to any of the stories. His cobalt eyes were glossy, clearly running through in his head the luncheon Noctis attended this past Tuesday—the most recent of Noctis’s half-baked attempts at courting Luna. Regis, who had not been among the lunchers, could only imagine his son’s endeavors and try to fill in the gaps where Noctis's retellings fell fairly short.

“Uh yeah, Meryl was there,” Noctis replied, guzzling down coffee. “Ravus too.”

“Mmm, the whole family.” Regis took another sip of coffee. Mind whirring behind his steadfast grey eyes. “I see. Meryl must have wanted to get her own bearings on the situation.”

With that thought, Regis put down his paper. He regarded his son with a look torn between seriousness and poorly contained excitement. “Noct, tell me. What did Meryl say to you?”

“Ummm…” Noctis tried not to pick his nails. It was an extremely impolite habit, but Ardyn did it all the time. Little by little, Noctis had started doing it when he was alone as well (even though Ignis kept Noctis’s nails virtually spotless). “I think we talked about…last year’s regatta? And the weather, of course.”

Of course.

Regis nodded. “What did she say about the regatta? No doubt she kept an eye on the Buckinghamshire crew, especially in the last yards, though I expect she wouldn’t say that.” 

Noctis fought the urge to scratch his head (another uncouth habit he was slowly appropriating from Ardyn). “She said it was…entertaining, I think?”

“That’s all?” Regis frowned. Then he was silent for several moments, after which he finally said, “…You know, Noct, I wish you would let me attend some of these outings with you. Not as a chaperone—I understand you’re a young man, you don’t want your father tagging along, but…” 

“Dad, it’s fine—”

“No, no, of course it is, but…” Regis sighed and closed his eyes. “I fear that some of the conversation at these gatherings is going quite over your head.” 

Noctis fought the intense urge to roll his eyes. Regis put so much stock in the subtleties of conversation, the hidden meanings behind every spoken word. And yeah, Regis was probably right. There was definitely some kind of meta game in everything people said at these events. Meryl spoke with one eye on Luna and one eye slanted on Noctis. The Baroness hardly ever address any one person, speaking merely to the entire room in a general way. Ravus was adept at staying silent until the most opportune moment, when he came out with a quip that rendered the rest of the table mute with its sharpness. 

And Luna just smiled and rolled with all of it. Noctis thought maybe he should take notes on the way Luna navigated a conversation. She was so natural and flawless.

Noctis sighed. He really didn’t care, though. Let all those idiots talk themselves to death, whatever. Luna outshined them all anyway. He glanced at the clock on the wall and found it was already fifteen past the hour—fifteen minutes after he planned to leave (before he left Engheld in the wee hours of the night, Noctis and Ardyn agreed on how today would go).

So, time to give in to whatever Regis wanted. Move this along. “Sure, okay, Dad. You can come along next time.” 

The clouds parted across his father’s face. He broke into a small, tight smile. If Noctis didn’t know better, he would have said Regis almost looked proud of him. 

“Thank you, Noct. You’re…” The Lord winced, as if unsure how to voice this next part. “…agreeable, this morning. I do appreciate it.” As that painful bit of awkwardness passed, Regis added with a touch more warmth, “It’s nice to see you so lively.” 

Faint pink spread over Noctis’s face. It was no mystery to him why he should be in better spirits today; Ardyn had fucked him absolutely silly last night, for one. By the end of it, Noctis had barely been able to walk to the hansom Caligo called for him. Also, thinking about the day ahead of him, Noctis’s stomach was doing somersaults—a rush of mixed nerves and pure eagerness. 

He was going to look so pretty today. _Finally_. After months thinking he’d never be pretty again—now he had a second chance at it. Maybe even more chances in the future if they didn’t screw this up.

“Um…you’re welcome, I guess…er…” Noctis glanced away. He was unable to look his father in the eye while thinking about such things. He’d sooner perish on the spot than let Regis found out what was going on in his head. Jesus.

His smile broadening, Regis just nodded and said, “Now, go on. Head off to whatever it is you have planned for today. I can see you’re eager to leave.”

Not missing his chance, Noctis jumped to his feet. The silverware on the table rattled in response. “Okay. Thanks, Dad. I’ll…be home later.” He failed to specify when exactly because he didn’t want to corner himself. Honestly, he hoped he’d be out all night at Ardyn’s place…

“Not too late tonight, alright, son?” Regis asked. Quietly. Knowing that Noctis might very well ignore his request no matter what; Regis was no stranger to Noctis’s habits of galavanting until the early morning. 

Still, appearances needed to be kept. “Uh, right. Yeah. Not too late.” 

Noctis brushed some crumbs off his shirt and pushed in his chair. He was already thinking about what he was going to tell Ignis—because he was definitely going to give Ignis a full rundown of the day, once it was done. He had to tell somebody!

“Bye, Dad.”

Regis nodded again. The wrinkles around the corners of his eyes pulled. An unreadable expression. “Take care, son.” 

“Sure.” 

Something was edging into their conversation. Even Noctis could feel it. The broad unnameable _something_ that stood between them all these years. A grey mass of feelings neither of them really wanted to touch. 

And today was not the day to tackle all that. 

Noctis slid out of the dining room and made directly for the servants’ quarters. Most likely, Nyx was still in bed at this hour. Time to wake up that lazy ass. 

________________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_2 December, 1856  
_ _Friday - Midday_

“Thanks for the ride, Nyx.” Noctis waved to his driver (and quasi-friend, as he was with most of the serving staff on his estate) and started heading down the road.

Nyx pushed the top hat up on his brow. Exposing a touch of the undercut he wore on one side of his head. “Sure you don’t want me to drive you a bit further?” 

“No, no, I’m good!” Noctis called, barely even glancing over his shoulder.

Nyx shrugged. As he turned the brougham around, he mumbled under his breath, “One day you’re gonna tell me where you’re really going, young master…” 

But Noctis didn’t hear him. All of his thoughts were bent on the townhouse slowly appearing in the distance. The gate—with its strange wrought iron pattern along the top (almost reminiscent of a single solitary wing)—came into focus first. Just behind the gate, he could see a blackish sort of figure with a pale, wrinkled face. 

“Tch.” Noctis stomped towards Engheld and gave Caligo an undignified glare. He was mostly sure it was Ardyn’s idea to ask his manservant to stand out here and wait for him, but Noctis resented Caligo all the more for going along with it.

Just because he had utterly failed to push the gate open on his own that one time…damn, this iron thing was heavy as hell! It wasn’t like Noctis was scrawny or weak or something. He worked out with Gladiolus a couple times a week! It was just…why was this Jacobian style architecture built like a slab of lead or some fucking thing…?

“You didn’t need to wait for me,” Noctis harrumphed. He knew Ulldor wouldn’t answer him, but he felt he needed to say it. “Could have just left it unlocked…”

To his chagrin, the side of Ulldor’s mouth twitched up. Amused. Noctis had never seen the mute butler fashion anything like a smile in all the weeks he’d been there, so for a moment he was too stunned to be insulted. As Caligo opened the gate one-handed, though, Noctis remembered his own pride soon enough.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. He followed Caligo through the grounds and straight to the front door. 

Ardyn greeted him in the foyer. His golden eyes were already twinkling—shining with mischief and some hidden joke. “Why hello, Master Caelum.” (Already the name sounded wrong. ‘Master?’ Shouldn’t it be….?) “Shall we head upstairs?”

Even though it had only been a few hours since the last time he’d seen Ardyn, Noctis couldn’t help sizing his lover up and down, forgetting all about everything that happened in the past few hours. Ardyn was wearing a buttoned shirt and trousers (one of his three different varieties) and no waistcoat. He looked tousled—as if he had barely risen from the bed they’d shared the night before. And of course, his shirt was buttoned all the way to the neck in an effort to hide his tattoos—but Noctis tried to make out the placement of his lover’s pectorals all the same. He could just about guess where they were underneath the cloth. Lower down were Ardyn’s hips…slim enough to wrap two hands around and meet in the middle (just about). But full of hidden power. Those same hips had plowed Noctis into oblivion the night before…and those staunch legs on either side…

Catching Noctis’s blatant staring, Ardyn moved in and pulled the younger man towards him. Caligo shut the door as soon as Noctis passed the threshold. Safely hidden from the rest of the world, Ardyn met Noctis’s lips in a kiss. Soft, tame. A gentle reminder of where those same lips had been a million times already. Noctis melted into the touch, slotting their hips together. He wanted Ardyn to whisk him upstairs just like this. Maybe fuck him one more time before they went out. 

For some reason, the lighter the touch, the hungrier Noctis felt…and Ardyn knew it. A mild kiss like this drove Noctis crazy. He could smell Ardyn’s robust scent, feel the sharpness of the older’s man’s beard stubble against his lips. The tension he’d felt all that morning leading up to this moment dissolved as Ardyn’s hand snaked around his waist. He mewled softly as his muscles unclenched, reacting viscerally to Ardyn’s unique presence...

“Okay, you guys are getting way too comfortable doing that out in the open.” 

Shocked by the sound of a feminine alto voice, Noctis broke the kiss and buried his face in Ardyn’s neck. Mostly to hide the fierce blush creeping into his cheeks. 

“Good morning, Miss Highwind,” Ardyn greeted cordially. He kept his arm locked around Noctis. “Thank you for your…timely arrival earlier today. Sharp, I might call it.” 

“Oh please, I’ve never been late a day in my life and you know it.” Aranea’s modest housekeeper’s pumps clicked against the wooden floor. She had a small satchel tucked under one arm. “Just consider yourself lucky that you’ve got Ulldor here looking out for you.”

Shit, right—Noctis whipped around to face the manservant. He had literally forgotten the guy was standing there, what with the constant silence and all. Humiliated, Noctis peered at Ulldor with a venomous look, expecting one from the man in return. But instead, Ulldor just saluted him with one finger to his brow. Nonchalant, with the hint of a smile on his lips.

Noctis’s gaze turned curious, wide-eyed. He’d expect any man to shrink away from a display like that between two men—a blatant one, done in the light of day without a care in the world—but…Caligo acted as if such a thing were as natural as the sunrise. And, he’d had the good sense to close the door to keep them from prying eyes. Plenty of servants might get snippy about being subjected to their master’s private business. They might’ve cleared their throat or knocked a vase to the floor ‘accidentally.’ Perhaps even left the door open and walked away just to show their disdain. But not Ulldor. As weird as he was, this man was definitely…loyal. 

“Yes, quite,” Ardyn hummed in response to Aranea. “Used to call him Hawkeye Jim back in the day. Didn’t we, Caligo?” 

A low chuckle emanated from Ulldor’s direction. He was _laughing_. Noctis turned around to stare at the silent butler as he nodded along in reminiscence. It was the first time Noctis heard any kind of sound from him—and this was clearly a shared joke between friends. Just who exactly was this guy…?

“I like that. Hawkeye Jim.” Aranea tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Suits you, Ulldor.”

“We all thought so.” Ardyn’s mouth was curved into a devilish twist.

…All? Noctis frowned and thought to ask who exactly were these other people they knew—the ‘all,’ practically a crowd when Ardyn said it like that.

But Aranea chose that moment to hurry them along. “Well, let’s head upstairs. Get this show on the road.” 

Remembering their plans, Noctis suddenly found his heart in his throat. Clearly Ardyn had told Aranea beforehand what they were going to be doing—what _she_ was going to be doing, helping with…now it was Noctis’s turn to look at Aranea with doubtful eyes. Clearly she wasn’t going to say no to this, she was leading the way to the master bedroom as they spoke, but…would she keep quiet? She knew Noctis’s real name, including his family name. Was she going to out him (them) to the rest of the world, just to have a bit of gossip on her side…? 

No, no. Aranea wasn’t like that. She was discreet and far too classy for that. She’d seen them in bed together and hadn’t breathed a word, sworn to Noctis’s face that she wouldn’t in fact, when he seemed awkward around her after she found out the truth. So Aranea could be trusted to keep their privacy, but…was she laughing at Noctis on the inside? Was she judging him, thinking him nothing more than a Bedlamite for wanting to go through with this? She was, after all, basically a stranger…how could Noctis hope to look her (a mere lady’s maid) in the eye again now that she knew his secret….?

Shame and distant worry twisted in Noctis’s chest. Maybe they shouldn’t do this after all. Maybe they should just return the dress and leave all the kinky stuff strictly in the bedroom where it belonged.

Doubt overtook him. And yet, when the bedroom door closed and Noctis saw the dull sapphire dress Ardyn bought him standing properly on a clothing dummy—he was dazzled. 

It looked _regal_ the way it sat on the mannequin! Cut finely along the bodice to show off a woman’s curves (and corset, of course). The tassels and lace along the hem of the frock had been dusted, or something, because the black color looked so much brighter than it had last night. So did the blue, for that matter. Crisper, like new. Even though this dress might very well have been sitting in the seamstress’s window for weeks, getting bleached by the sun.

“Miss Highwind took the liberty of steaming the dress this morning,” Ardyn explained. “She went over the entire thing with a kettle, isn’t that right?” 

Aranea smoothed the sleeves of the dress with a delicate hand. “Yeah, of course. A gown like this deserves the full treatment.” 

When her pale green eyes landed on Noctis, the young master felt his mouth go dry. He had to look away. 

There was someone else, his brain told him. Someone else who _knew_. Someone besides Ignis, Gladious, and Prompto. And even among those three, Noctis was only comfortable with Ignis knowing that he was still doing this. Gladio and Prompto just wouldn’t understand…but now there was Aranea. 

He flexed his hands nervously, not sure what to say. Part of him wanted to suddenly jump up and laugh like this was all a big joke. ‘Funny, right?’ he might say, the same thing he’d said to Prompto the first time his friend saw him in women’s clothes. 

Except…he had a feeling that wouldn’t work with Aranea. Her eyes were too sharp (just like Ignis’s, in a way). She’d see through him. She’d know that they were well past the ‘what a funny joke’ stage with all this. She’d know that Noctis was serious. 

She’d know that he wanted to be pretty.

Looking away at last—sparing him—Aranea laid her satchel delicately on the bed. She started pulling out all sorts of materials. A cask of rouge and one of powder. A box of barrettes, some hair clips. A lady’s hairbrush. As well as two plush, palm-sized silk pillows which she held up to Ardyn with a raised eyebrow.

“I sewed these the way you asked, Mr. Izunia,” Aranea began, squeezing the pillows in demonstration. “Stuffed with a mix of down feathers and cooked lard. Tried to get the size you wanted, but it might be a little bigger, not too sure. Can’t say I’ve worked with these materials before, so…"

“Mmmm…” Humming merrily, Ardyn grasped the pillows, testing their pliancy in his own hands. “Let’s see if my estimations were correct.”

Not missing a beat, Ardyn thrust the pillows against Noctis’s chest. Over his clothes. Eyeing Noctis’s new bust the way a man might regard his favorite dessert. Nearly licking his lips excitedly. 

"Hey!" Noctis swatted his lover's hands away. That was way too fast, in front of Aranea! Ardyn hadn’t even tried to beat around the bush…Noctis glanced away in embarrassment.

Undeterred, Ardyn continued squeezing the pillows. Quite lewd, now that they all knew what those pillows were meant to be. Still, Ardyn continued rambling, as if he had been proven correct in some aspect of this. “Yes…down feathers give them the proper yielding quality…the lard adds a distinct firmness, supple to the touch…not too soft and not too hard. I do believe I’ve cracked it, Noct…”

Aranea huffed. “I should have known _that’s_ why you asked me to make these. My whole flat smells like lard now, so. You’re welcome.” 

Ardyn flashed her a smile. “My dear, you’re a cut above. Skilled as a smith. Worth every penny and then some. I do appreciate your fine work, Miss Highwind.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” At last, she pulled out a shoebox from underneath the chifforobe. “And you’re the Dr. Frankenstein of tits. And feet, I guess, since it seems like these might just fit him."

She took the lid off the shoebox, exposing a pair of black leather ladies walking boots. They rose just above the ankle, with a two-inch heel and sharp pointed toe tip. Noctis thought they looked very nice. Objectively, speaking, anyway. He’d never really looked at women’s shoes before.

It took him a full minute to realize those boots were for him. He glanced between the shoebox and Aranea. Twice, then three times. Disbelieving. 

Aranea shrugged. “Don’t look at me. Mr. Izunia did the math. Figured out some conversion between men’s and women’s sizes. Had me measure your regular boots and order these to scale. I’ll let him take the credit for however they turned out.”

“You…ordered me a pair of…?” Noctis’s blue eyes were shining when he glanced up at his devious lover.

"Naturally." Ardyn gestured to the side with one hand. “A lady must have the proper footwear if she is to walk about town.” 

Overcome with nerves—he’d never worn heels before!—and a rush of appreciation—Ardyn had thought of _everything_ —Noctis put one hand on the boots. They had that new leather smell, and they were as smooth as anything else Noctis owned. Fine quality. (He wondered if Ardyn needed to liquidate something to afford these; he hoped not.)

“Well, then. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Aranea rose to her feet and promptly shooed Ardyn out of the room. “Scram, doc. It’s girl-time from here on out.” 

In the middle of the doorway, hands up in surrender, Ardyn shot them a pleading, innocent look and said, “I thought I might witness the transformation—”

“Nope. Out.” With that, she snapped the door closed in the master’s face. She waited with an ear to the door for a few minutes, listening for Ardyn’s retreating feet. Eventually Ardyn went down the stairs and called for Ulldor to put on a pot of coffee.

Satisfied, Aranea spun around with a serious, tightly drawn face. She spoke in a rushed flurry, nearly frightened in a tone Noctis had not thought her capable of. 

“Okay, seriously. Tell me the truth. What’s going on here?” She ran to Noctis and grabbed his hand. Her green eyes darted all over his face, trying to read him. She spoke barely above a whisper. “Is he making you do this? Is he threatening you, blackmailing you with something? Telling you that you have to walk around in women’s clothes or he’s gonna…I don’t know…whatever, but…tell me honestly. Is this him?” 

She blinked when Noctis stayed silent. “Or is it what you really want?” 

Her hand was firm where she gripped him. Her eyes did not falter. She meant every word. Even though she was wrong—obviously—Noctis could not help feeling touched. Aranea was worried for him. Offering to save him if that’s what he needed. For the first time in his life, Noctis caught a glimpse into what it must be like to have a big sister. One who made it her business to care for you. 

He gripped her hand in return, trying to get the words out. He needed to tell her the truth.

“Because if this is him then just say the word—nod your head or something—and I’ll get you out of here. There’s a hidden servant’s staircase that leads to the backdoor, he won’t even realize—”

“No, no, it’s…” Noctis shook his head. He knew he was giving up his last chance at disguising all this, but. He wouldn’t sacrifice Ardyn’s honor for that. And he couldn’t deny it anymore. He…wanted to wear that dress.

“This was actually my idea,” Noctis admitted at last. “Well, this time was his idea, but. Last time…the first time we met was me. I was wearing a dress then too. So he’s really just…doing what I want.” 

The words burned his ears. They seemed to echo mortifyingly around the room. But at least they were out now.

Aranea leaned in, narrowing her eyes at him. When she saw the plain shyness on the young lord’s face, the way his eyes flickered uncertainly between the floor and the window, she leaned back. 

“Oh.” She dropped her hands. “So, you want this? You want me to dress you up like a lady so you can walk around London on his arm?”

“I…yeah.” He really needed to be more convincing. “Yes. I want this.”

He closed his eyes after he said that. Had to. He didn’t want to see the look on Aranea’s face—confusion probably. Maybe thinly veiled disgust. Maybe she’d purse her lips together and dress him like this without a single word, only because she was getting paid and couldn’t find any other job…

“…Okay, then.” 

She rested her hand lightly on Noctis’s shoulder. Not expecting that, Noctis opened his eyes and was met with a bright smile. All the dark tension from earlier had drained out of Aranea. She seemed happy for a brief moment—legitimately happy, like a young woman her age ought to be—before the look fadedand she nodded in resolution. 

“If that’s how it is, then we’re all fine.” She walked dutifully to the chifforobe and took out the petticoat and corset. “I can tell you’re not lying. So this must be a mutual thing. Hey, whatever works.” 

Noctis’s jaw dropped a fraction. Relief—and a fair amount of shock—rushed through him. Aranea was just going to…ignore everything wrong about this? Chalk it up to personal taste?

While he stood there dumbfounded, Aranea arranged all the clothes in a sort of semicircle around the mirror (in a proper lady’s room, it would be a boudoir, but. This was still Ardyn’s room). Laying out the make-up and accoutrements so they would be within reach.

“And you came to the right person,” Aranea added, beckoning Noctis closer. “I’ll fix you up real nice, Mr. Caelum.” 

And so, Noctis took his place in front of the mirror. With all the glee of a child given an armload of presents. He didn’t know how to express his gratitude to Aranea—for the easy way she regarded him, without even talking of things like secrets or shame, instead treating him like a real lady—so he just…waited. Face gleaming. 

Of course Aranea could feel the quivering excitement radiating off Noctis in waves, but she was polite enough not to mention that either.

“Alright, so. Down to your skivvies. Let’s get the first layer on.” 

It felt a little weird undressing in front of a woman—he’d only ever been in his underthings before a woman when he was about to have sex with one, and this situation could not be any further from that. So, in nothing but his greying pantaloons, Noctis would have admitted to being a little shy. He thought about covering the obvious bump near the inseam where his eager manhood lay in anticipation of what was to come. This hadn’t been weird with Ignis—Ignis had seen him in his underwear hundreds (probably thousands) of times. 

“Relax,” Aranea chided as she slipped the chemisette over his shoulders. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, champ.”

Right, obviously Aranea had been with men before. Plus she’d seen Noctis barely clothed the times she’d caught him in bed with Ardyn…so being embarrassed was stupid. Even so, Noctis felt unnaturally exposed. Like he was baring a piece of his soul to Aranea, showing her a side of himself he really only felt comfortable showing to Ardyn. The part that ached to be dressed up in silks and lace.

He’d better just look away and try not to think too hard about this. 

But that was impossible. Aranea was a master of her craft—a skilled lady’s maid through and through. She tied Noctis’s corset just tight enough, then slipped the pillows behind the chemisette, so that as she finished tying the corset, the pillows would be held in place by the whole getup. Like a natural pair of breasts. Not even Ignis had thought to do that. He’d stuffed the silverware pillows in after the fact, making them looking pinched behind the corset. With Aranea’s expert handiwork, Noctis touched his chest in astonishment. 

For a moment, he could almost believe he really had his own genuine pair! Ardyn was right—the consistency of those makeshift tits underneath his chemisette felt surprisingly natural. That Noctis could attest to.

“Stop feeling yourself up in the mirror, Caelum,” Aranea retorted. Noctis dropped his hands instantly. Caught with his hands in the cookie jar, so to speak. “Arms down so I can fix the stays.” 

She checked the laces in back of the corset one more time. Running her fingers over each line, tightening a few here and there. Her eyes could pinpoint the slightest bit of slack. Noctis couldn’t be sure, but the corset felt a fair amount tighter than it had last time. 

He smirked. Perfect. 

…Even though he was still wearing men’s pantaloons. Long johns because of the month. Noctis scrunched his nose in disapproval. He wished Ardyn had thought to buy women’s underthings, a nice frilled set of women’s pants. 

Maybe next time.

Aranea handled the hoopskirt with ease. All she asked was that Noctis lift his arms, and before he knew it, the caged crinoline was already in place. Soon followed by the petticoat. 

He was ready.

“So…let’s see…” Aranea combed her fingers through the back of Noctis’s hair. “Hmm. If your hair was just a tiny bit longer I might be able to do something with it. But the way it is now, I’ll have to pin the whole thing down to keep it swept under your bonnet. Alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” Noctis could not help feeling disappointed. 

Yes, he had neglected to cut his hair since October. He told himself it was because of laziness. He even withstood Regis’s tutting whenever his father politely reminded him that Ignis owned a sharp enough pair of scissors. At this point, Noctis’s hair was an inch or so longer than most men’s. Sort of shaggy. In this situation, with Aranea’s words in his ear, Noctis immediately imagined what he would look like with an updo. Curls in the front, like the women in garden parties wore underneath their fabulous hats. 

His hair was beautiful and soft. It was perfect for an updo. Maybe it would even take a curl with some prompting—who could say?

Impatience set to a slow boil inside him. He wanted to see what he looked like with a well-done, proper lady’s hairstyle. So, he’d have to keep letting it grow until he could pull one off. Noctis vowed to grow his hair out as long as he needed—a feeling of freedom bubbled up and exploded in his chest. He almost felt like giggling.

He couldn’t wait!

Aranea fluffed the taffeta and crinoline out several times before she passed the flounced skirt over Noctis’s head. She ruffled the material in a way Ignis had shied away from, assured that the material would bounce back. It did. Then, she gently fit the bodice around Noctis’s arms and stomach. She pulled the opening in the bust apart even further. Letting Noctis’s fake breasts, still safely covered by the chemisette, peek out. His pair looked svelte and natural like that. Not a hidden secret like before. Just…there. A woman’s chest. Large enough that anyone could look if they wanted. But demure behind layers of clothing so Noctis wouldn’t seem too wanton. He appeared to be a woman working with her God-given ‘talents.’ 

“You’re going to need to carry yourself with some confidence, sir,” Aranea advised. “In a get-up like this.” 

While she fit his hair into place, Noctis admired himself in the mirror. Aranea was a goddamn genius. Making him look as organic as he did! If Noctis met himself on the street he wouldn’t even guess his true gender. That’s the kind of look this was.

His hair steadfastly pinned, Aranea brought over the powder and rouge. She gave Noctis a stiff piece of bent paper to cover his chest with, saving the bodice from being stained by powder.

“Umm…do you think…?” Noctis began to ask as Aranea slathered him in rouge. “…I need all that?” 

“Yeah, of course. You’re a woman aren’t you? This is how women make themselves up nowadays.” She smirked. “Just be glad I’m not coming at you with the eyelash curler. Hmm. I’ll let you think about that for now.”

When she stepped away, Noctis stared at himself with wide eyes. He was wearing a good deal more rouge than last time! This was Aranea’s style, though, how she dressed herself. Heavy red lips. Noctis didn’t know how to feel about it—the rouge was expertly done, but he was trying to decide if his face looked more or less normal with such heavy make-up. In the end, he decided to trust Aranea. She definitely seemed like she knew what she was doing. And the style worked for her; Aranea always looked amazing, even in a housekeeper’s drab livery. 

The bonnet was the coup de grace. Aranea did the same as Ignis had done, teasing out some stray bits of bangs to adorn Noctis’s brow. 

And yes. The color of the day gown really did suit Noctis’s eyes. He found himself fixated on the sight of two blue crystals beaming back at him in the mirror with life and energy. As a man, he’d never worn a color as suitable as this. 

Ardyn had been spot on in his fantasizing. Noctis really was the person born to wear this dress. It was so obvious now! 

“And…there.” Aranea backed away, eyeing her creation with pride. “What do you think, sir?” 

He wished she would stop calling him ‘sir.’ But she was only being polite, and Noctis had no idea how to ask to be called something else. 

“Amazing. Aranea you…” Noctis twirled in the mirror, shivering in pleasure when he felt that breeze between his legs. “I love it!” 

Really, he did. His heart felt like it had been given a pair of wings. He wanted to laugh and maybe go dancing—was he good at dancing as a woman? Only one way to find out! It was as if some invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders, a nagging itchiness soothed at last. 

He couldn’t wait to show Ardyn.

“Great. You should love it, you look fantastic. One last thing!” Aranea lifted the high-heeled boots out of the shoebox. “Let’s see if these fit you after all. Have a seat on the bed.”

Sure enough, the boots fit (Aranea laced them in mere moments). Perhaps they were just a bit big in the toe, but Noctis would soon realize he’d be grateful for that space. For when he stood, it took him a moment to find his balance. Then he noticed that his toes slid forward into the gap of space because of the heels. So actually, they fit quite nicely this way.

“Feels good,” Noctis assured his lady’s maid. “Now, let’s go find Ar—”

One step and he nearly toppled over. Aranea caught him, quick with her reflexes. She righted him and briefly gave him some tips on how to walk in such boots. He was very wobbly—it was harder for a man to wear heels, what with his center of gravity being slightly different than a woman’s. Noctis had no idea what Aranea meant when she said to let his ass swerve outward as he stepped. He tried to force it, but that just made him fall again. 

“Not so obviously, Caelum,” Aranea coached. “Just like…a little wiggle. Barely even there. Unless you’re looking.”

Noctis focused. He remembered how he walked last time with that little swaying motion in his hips. The walk that attracted The Eyes. If he adjusted it ever so slightly, let it come naturally as he took a step—ah, there. That was…a little better. …Maybe?

“Hmm, not bad,” Aranea conceded. “Anyway, practice makes perfect, right? Let’s go out and show Mr. Izunia.” 

Unreasonably proud that he could walk in heels—even shakily—Noctis nodded and strutted towards the door. 

Although yes, he did need Aranea’s help as they made their way down the grand staircase. Noctis made a mental note to avoid stairs unless absolutely necessary for the time being. 

They found Ardyn in the living room. He was standing by the mantle with Ulldor, and when he heard the clicking of approaching high-heeled feet, he turned around.

Two sets of eyes widened when Noctis entered the room. Even Caligo look amazed. But Ardyn…Ardyn was utterly enthralled. His face went slack, unable to look at anything but the beautiful woman standing in his living room. The picture his lover made. Ardyn’s golden eyes travelled over every inch of Noctis, all the taffeta and silk and whalebone. The heels and rouge. Everything. 

For one precarious moment, Ardyn thought he might push Noctis up against the wall and fuck him right there. In front of the servants, to the ruination of the beautiful dress Noctis wore so well. He didn’t even care—a dark shadow of desire flickered over his face. He _wanted_ Noctis. Just like this. He wanted to drag Noctis back upstairs and make love to him for the rest of the afternoon. To keep him in this house for whole days and do nothing but bring Noctis unending pleasure. To claim him in front of the world. To declare this young man as his woman, heaven and hell be damned—

No, no. No. Too far. Much too far. This wild heart of his. Bring it back.

The shadow passed from Ardyn’s face. He returned to his typical insouciant self. 

“My.” He passed a hand over his forehead and came away with actual sweat. Such was the effect Noctis had on him. “You are…stunning, my dear. To the fullest extent of the word. What is now proved was once only imagined.” 

“Pssh.” Aranea scoffed at the poetry. “You gonna start paying that guy royalties? Blake or Bloke or whatever his name is?”

Reminded of the others, Ardyn glanced towards Aranea. His face followed his gaze with a hearty grin. “Ah, Miss Highwind. You’ve outdone yourself! Marvelous, my dear. Simply marvelous!” 

Ulldor nodded to himself in the background.

“What else did you expect?” Aranea tossed her employer a smirk. “Besides, the kid’s got a lot working for him. I just helped him along.” 

“Yes…” Ardyn’s voice almost slid into a hiss at the end, but he cut it off in time. His eyes fell back on Noctis.

“I could’ve used more practice with the heels,” the young master said clumsily. 

“Oh, but you’ll have plenty of practice today, my dear!” Ardyn gestured towards Ulldor and the man deftly slipped on his master’s greatcoat. “Now come, time’s wasting! Let’s head into town.”

Noctis smiled. He naturally remembered not to show his teeth, as that was not a womanly thing to do. He offered up a coquettish simper instead, as if he had done so a million times before.

Passion ignited behind Ardyn’s eyes. 

They stood in the doorway of Engheld House for only a moment. Caligo opened the door for them kindly enough. Then Ardyn stepped out first. 

“Are you ready, my lady?” He held out his elbow for Noctis to take.

Accepting the arm, Noctis stepped out into the light. “Yes. Quite.” Already he affected the feminine tone he’d nailed down last time. 

Sunlight felt good. The dress seemed to absorb the energy of the outside world, brightening the blue color even further in Noctis’s mind. He could have been glowing now for all he knew.

And he felt beautiful.

———————

 

Ardyn called a hansom. The cabby greeted them with a tip of his hat, and a slightly more than cursory glance in Noctis’s direction. Just a casual sweep of The Eyes. A look that did not go unnoticed by either of his passengers.

“What do you think, dear? Knightsbridge?” Ardyn asked as they settled into the backseat of the carriage.

“Mmm, what a wonderful idea.” Actually it was. Noctis loved the thought of wandering around the myriad shops and wide, nicely decorated streets in that part of town. 

“Very well. You heard the lady, good sir. Take us to Knightsbridge please. Make it Ennismore and Rutland.” 

Sheer delight trickled through Noctis at the way Ardyn referred to him—in public, in front of someone—! He gripped his lover’s arm a little tighter, and Ardyn spared him a knowing glance. Of course he knew exactly what he was doing to Noctis. 

And of course, he would do more. 

As the wheels of the hansom rattled to life, Ardyn placed a gentle kiss to the side of Noctis’s neck. Barely there—but so, so perfect. Noctis whimpered, his head falling to Ardyn’s shoulder.

“I know, darling,” Ardyn cooed. “You must be eager for me already.”

“…You have no idea…” Noctis was at half-mast. His prick pressing hurriedly against the confines of the hoopskirt. As if half-mast were its natural state. And as if the slightest contact there didn’t make Noctis want to straddle Ardyn’s lap and rut until he reached a premature climax right there.

Ardyn chuckled. “Patience, Noct. We mustn’t get you too riled up before we arrive at our destination. Otherwise our ruse will be foiled from the start.”

“…Right.” Noctis sighed dramatically, but he agreed. 

They held hands in the cab, all the way to Knightsbridge. The only contact either of them would allow was the soft caress of fingers between fingers. Somehow even that felt lewd and intimate under the circumstances.

“Here you are, my lord and lady!” The cabby rolled to halt on the corner of Ennismore Street, as asked. “And only a shilling for the trouble!”

The sights and smells of London assaulted them as they stepped out of the cab. Here was the heart of the wealthiest shoppers in town—men and women clad in wool and silk. Feathers wobbling on a plethora of hats. Golden pins and cufflinks gleaming in the daylight. Horses attached to hansom cabs brayed inelegantly as people hurried to and fro. Snippets of conversation faded in and out of focus, along with the telltale tinkling of shop doors. People were spending money here. That was a rather safe assumption.

In the middle of it all stood Noctis. On full display, yet hidden at the same time. A more powerful feeling than being invisible: Being _seen_ and not _known_. 

Ardyn paid the cabby and Noctis spared a glance back at the man. Sure enough, the cabby was leering at him with a slant-eyed, greedy look. He winked at Noctis once before departing in search of his next passenger. The look left Noctis sort of stunned for a moment. He needed to remember that he was entirely disguised—that no one knew him for who he really was here. That those looks were commonplace for a man to give a woman if he found her attractive. Not an insult or a dare. Just a look. Of lust, or whatever.

“Happy with that, are you?” Ardyn rumbled in Noctis’s ear as the cabby drove away. It was clear he had caught that mischievous wink as well. 

Noctis smirked. He liked knowing that Ardyn saw him getting some other male attention. Not that he wanted to make Ardyn jealous…but maybe he did, actually. Just a little. For fun, mostly, because Noctis knew very well who he was going home with. The same man he dreamed about, the man who had given him this dress on a whim—and who so perfectly captured Noctis’s desires.

“Happier with this.” Noctis gripped Ardyn’s elbow again, wrapping his hand confidently around Ardyn’s firm arm. Smiling pleasantly at his escort, trying to act indifferent to the blush he knew had risen to his cheeks. 

Ardyn’s grin widened. He was pleased. So then, they both were. Noctis’s heart fluttered in rapture.

Covering the younger man’s hand in his own—the way he had in Ravenscout Park—Ardyn led the way down Ennismore Street. They were headed nowhere in particular, and that in itself was a kind of freedom. Crowds bustled around them, jostling Noctis’s skirts and the cape on Ardyn’s winter coat, but they paid them no mind. Men and women glanced in Noctis’s direction—eyeing the couple with poorly concealed comments.

“Clearly courting, aren’t they?”

“Never seen that young lady before, have you?”

“No. She looks like one of the Almira siblings doesn’t she?”

“Not at all! Those girls are dark-eyed to the last! This young woman has the most clear blue eyes I’ve seen in a moment, to be sure.” 

“Hmph. Probably a foreigner.” 

Noctis shimmered under all the attention. He didn’t care what people thought about his origins—he didn’t have to care, unlike he usually did. He wanted them to guess. Let them throw suggestions at the wall—they’d never guess the truth! 

People filtered around the strolling couple. They were like two rocks in a stream, letting the natural current of the water flow past them. While they stayed in their own state of motion. Enjoying the feeling of just being there, being what they were. 

They passed a day like that. If there were a such thing as a pleasure walk—there must be, even in London where people walked for the sake of business more than anything else—then this was it. Down to the very last. Up and down the streets of Knightsbridge. Ignoring and secretly collecting all the comments that came their way. 

As the sun began to sink in the sky, it became clear that they would need to head home soon. Noctis’s feet were hurting—although he rather thought he had perfected the art of walking in heels—and his spine felt cramped. He wasn’t quite so hard anymore. Strangely, the sheer thrill of being a woman in public faded after an hour or so. Now he just felt…sort of calm. Happy, maybe. He knew he’d be ready for a nice romp once he and Ardyn got home, but for now, Noctis was content just to walk arm in arm with the man he so adored. 

A natural feeling.

Giddy, biting his lip like a madman, Noctis grew more daring. He decided to add another skit into their playacting. He cast his eyes around the store windows and settled on one selling fur muffs for the upcoming winter. 

“Oh, Ardyn, look!” Noctis cried, tugging his escort in the direction of the shop windows. “Do you see those fine muffs on display? With the fur and tassels near the fringe?” 

Ardyn caught on to his lover’s game. He let himself be pulled to the window, cognizant of the stares they were getting from passersby. (Who didn’t want to see a man get whipped into buying a frivolous gift for his sweetheart? Ardyn most certainly would have done the same!)

“Ah, yes, they’re lovely.” Ardyn threw his hand to the side in exasperation. “But my dear, you have so many muffs at home. Can you not be content with those?”

Noctis pouted his rouged lips. “Well…but those are last year’s muffs. These are new and in style! I want that one, darling.” He pointed to an arbitrary muff on display. A black fur one, sort of plain in style.

Ardyn sighed like a put-upon gentleman. He even made sympathetic eyes with some of the men looking on. They nodded to him in understanding. “Very well, my dear, which one do you want?” 

Jubilant in victory, Noctis pulled Ardyn into the store. He tugged the muff off the shelf and brought it straight to the cashier. The man behind the counter nodded politely at them, eyes twinkling when he caught on to the situation. 

“Very fine choice, miss,” the cashier said. He gave Ardyn an amused, empathetic look. “Bought one for my missus the other day in fact. Said she couldn’t live without it.” He sighed, taking Ardyn’s money. “God’s gift to men, is it?” 

It was a conspiratorial comment at the expense of all women, in reference to the frequently intoned expression that women were God’s gift to men. 

Ardyn threw his hands up in a show of helplessness. “Most assuredly. Happy wife, happy life, no?” 

The cashier chuckled and wrapped the muff in a gift box. “Right you are, sir. Here you go, miss. Enjoy!” 

Noctis gave a small cry of glee as he wrapped his hands around the box. “Oh, thank you, darling!” 

In an extreme fit of boldness—very near to lunacy, some might say—Noctis leaned up and gave Ardyn a quick peck on the cheek. Quite typical for a couple (what were they, a married couple in this scenario? He'd lost track), but far outside anything they'd done in the past. 

Both their hearts raced as lips brushed skin. A moment of porcelain fragility. 

Then the cashier broke into a chortle, evaporating the tension without even realizing it was there. “Ah, swift compensation! Good show!” 

Noctis was beet red, for sure. But he was so, so happy he went for it! When their eyes met, Noctis realized what he had just done to Ardyn with that little performance.

He liked it. A lot.

“Come along, you,” Ardyn murmured to Noctis. He took the lady’s hand and escorted him out of the store, waving goodbye to the helpful cashier. 

Without even asking, Ardyn called them a hansom. He quickly recited his address in Kingston Upon Thames and snapped the carriage closed, not entirely caring that the force of that movement knocked the top hat right off his head. Pushing aside the gift box, Ardyn descended upon Noctis like a hawk swooping in for the kill. He ravaged the younger man’s lips, tugging him closer by the chin. They kissed each other like lovers who had been parted for decades. Thirsty for each other’s lips in a singular way—ignoring all else in the world.

“Oh, my dear…” Ardyn rumbled. Dark, but still amused. Eyes as gold as the devil’s. “You will be the death of me.” 

They fucked like rabbits that night. They didn’t even have time to dismantle the blue dress—instead, Ardyn ripped off his trousers, laid down on his back, and sat Noctis in his lap, letting the taffeta drape around their naked parts. Noctis knew exactly what to do. He rode Ardyn within an inch of his life, bucking on top of that man’s hips like he was riding the old stallion his father warned him to stay away from in his youth. Burying Ardyn’s cock as far inside his body as he could. Squeezing him with his inner muscles and watching in complete fascination as Ardyn lost it and came hard inside him. Snarling. A mess. Noctis was not far behind him.

He would never, ever get tired of the sight of this man climaxing. He could watch Ardyn come undone over and over again. Forever. The way his gentlemanly composure dissolved and he turned into something else—not quite a man. Not quite a beast, either. But very close. An alternate version of himself. Someone—something?—Noctis wanted to wrap in his arms and kiss.

A part that Noctis knew Ardyn tried to keep locked away inside himself. He didn’t know why. Or where it came from. But he wanted it. The same way he wanted the rest of Ardyn—he would have it all. 

In bed at least.

——————

 

Some time later, Noctis fished a handful of bills out of his wallet and pressed them into Ardyn’s hand. 

“For the muff,” he explained, jumping back into Ardyn’s bed to kiss away the furrowed brow on his lover’s face.

“I paid for it, didn’t I?” Ardyn asked sleepily. He had spent himself to his last that night, driven into that animalistic state (being taken so far always made the man a little sleepy, Noctis noticed). 

“Yes and now I’m paying you back,” Noctis declared. “There’s no reason you have to spend money on me, Ardyn. I’ve got plenty of my own. And I do plan on wearing that muff, by the way.” 

Ardyn sighed. “Well…I suppose it’s not a waste at least. However…”

“Hush.” Noctis laid a finger on Ardyn’s lips. “Just go to sleep. It’s all handled, okay?” 

Panting, the black sun on his chest heaving as he tried and failed to stay awake, Ardyn closed his eyes with a sort of shrug. 

Noctis made it his business to keep Ardyn flush from then on. He’d stick a few quid in the older man’s billfold every day from now on. Since gentlewomen did not carry money. 

Because Noctis fully planned on buying more things for himself. Womanly things. Things he did not want Ardyn to spend money on, that his lover very well might not be able to buy without ‘liquidating’ more assets.

There was no sense in that. Noctis was nothing if not rich. He’d buy the accoutrements from here on out.

And he did not plan on holding back.

____________________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_20 December, 1856  
_ _Tuesday - Night_

They continued that way through the whole month of December. Whenever possible, Noctis would ask Aranea to dress him, then he and Ardyn would go for one of their pleasure walks. Every time was a new thrill. Every time felt like a danger or a dare, and every time they came home to wonderful night of sex.

It was foreplay, yes. But it was more than that in some way too. When they were on the street Noctis did not feel like the moaning whore he was in the bedroom. He felt like a lady. That’s all. People, strangers, treated him as such. And it was such a marvelous feeling. A taste of the freedom he had dreamed of back when he first thought of doing this whole thing at Harrod’s that day. 

A woman. Noctis loved the charade more than he thought he would, and not for the reasons he imagined. Yes, the sex was amazing and deeply erotic. But the play itself was fun.

He liked being a woman. As the days turned into weeks, Noctis came around to accepting that. 

It wasn’t like anyone except Ardyn had to know. So, the fun was theirs and theirs alone. If that meant Ardyn was the one who saw Noctis at his most honest, then so be it. Their brand of honesty was something they did not need to explain to the rest of the world. 

He could still live a perfectly normal life on his ‘off’ days, the days when he did not go to Engheld. When he was just the son of Lord Caelum. Those days were fine, too. If a little boring.

Then came a day when someone recognized Ardyn on the street. It was a turning point for them.

They were in Bayswater this time. They never strayed too far from central London on their walks, mostly sticking to the neighborhoods immediately around Hyde Park. Partially because that’s where it was easiest to find hansom cabs (and when the mood struck, they needed to be on the fastest route home before they were arrested for public indecency and other crimes). But also because Noctis liked the company in that part of town. They were lords and ladies—some of whom he actually knew, but who would never ever recognize him in return. Good people. Noctis, for once, wanted to blend in with their kind. Without the disparaging remarks about his failure of a life. Become a woman everyone was curious about, for all the right reasons this time. 

Noctis alternated between the blue and purple dresses. He wanted to buy more dresses, but he decided to save his money for the warmer months. These dresses were suitable for the winter with their dark colors and thick material. Noctis did wear the muff, some days, and he also bought himself a cape to keep warm since the weather was much colder now. No sense buying a new dress if he couldn’t show it off underneath the cloak. 

Although, he loved seeing Ardyn pull out a wad of money—money that Noctis himself had given him—to buy things on his behalf. It was its own thrill, the idea of being a woman whose lover paid her way. Society bought it, why wouldn’t they? The charade was enough. 

Noctis loved the charade.

Sometimes they took lunch together in a tavern, or a small restaurant. Mostly, they just walked. The motion, the act of walking arm in arm was what they craved.

One afternoon, in Bayswater, just before they were content enough to declare an end to their day, a gentleman’s voice cut through the crowd.

“Izunia! Mr. Izunia, sir!”

They silently contemplated stopping to greet the gentleman. No one had ever called one of them out by name before—they were content just being two nameless faces in the crowd. Now this…?

Ice froze along Noctis’s veins. At the same time…he wondered. If this man knew Ardyn—actually knew him, in real life beyond this little play of theirs, then…would seeing Noctis on Ardyn’s arm imply that they were actually a couple? For real this time? Not just ‘the man and his lover’ but Ardyn Izunia and the dashing young woman he was courting?

Oh fuck, Noctis wanted that. He wanted to be Ardyn’s. Not just some man’s, he wanted to be Ardyn’s specifically.

He might have turned around before Ardyn did, as a matter of fact. Either way, they had no time to talk before the strange man galloped over to them in a rush.

“Oh, Mr. Izunia, sir! So glad I could catch up to you!” He was a smooth-skinned gentleman with sparse yellow hair and a long nose. Clearly well-monied, from the look of his spotless greatcoat and the neat, even cut of his hair. But Noctis had never seen him before, so the man was probably upper middle-class, like Ardyn. Not privy to the strict social circles Noctis was raised within.

Ardyn was congenial as always. “Ah, Mr. Renquist. Good day to you.” 

“Ah, good day to _you_ , Mr. Izunia! A fine one, isn’t it?” He glanced at Noctis and nodded, clearly impressed by the sight of the lady. 

Before he could stop himself, Mr. Renquist gave Noctis a once-over stare. His eyes landed with singleminded determination on Noctis’s chest. Transfixed. Just skirting the edge of impropriety—

“How may I be of service today, Mr. Renquist?” Ardyn cut in. Still cordial, but Noctis alone could hear venom lacing his tone.

“Oh! Well…” The man brought his eyes back up and smiled in a self-deprecating way. He seemed like someone who did not mind poking fun at himself. “…I saw you in the crowd and I knew immediately that I must say hello. We still talk about that night, the boys at the club I mean. That night we went to Lucy’s and you regaled us with the most delightful conversation—”

His eyes cut to Noctis and he stopped his story in its tracks. His frog-like stare led Noctis to believe Ardyn had told ‘the boys’ a series of off-color anecdotes. Some were probably passable as real conversation, and the others? Entirely pornographic. Noctis had heard it all before, of course, but such talk was hardly something to be repeated—or even mentioned—in the company of a woman.

“My sincerest apologies, miss,” Renquist fumbled. He laughed at himself and bowed at the waist. “I neglected to introduce myself. Gabriel Renquist. What a pleasure to meet you!” 

“Charmed, sir,” Noctis pulled his hand from the muff and offered it to Renquist. Naturally, the man touched her palm in a gentlemanly greeting, covering her hand with his own to show affection. 

Misplaced, as it were. 

Noctis nodded his head, lost in the dazzling feeling of being introduced as a woman. He could have stayed in that moment, wrapped in the heady feeling of being seen—except Renquist quickly followed up with, “And…you are, miss?” 

Oh, right. His name. Noctis blushed and opened his mouth to speak—fuck, he and Ardyn both knew what was about to tumble out of his lips, gods and demons alike damn him—he was being put on the spot so what other choice did he have—

“I’m Miss—”

At that moment, Ardyn fell against Noctis’s shoulder in the most undignified way.It took years of pugilist training to keep Noctis on his feet, it was so sudden and jarring. 

Angry, Ardyn immediately spun around and began yelling at the man nearest to him. “I say, sir! Watch where you’re walking, will you?” 

The startled gentleman—who in all fairness had barely grazed Ardyn’s shoulder—looked flabbergasted. “But I…hardly touched you…”

“Yes, quite!” Ardyn towered over the poor man. “A touch enough to knock a man into his woman like a damned fool! What are you playing at, old boy?” 

“Alright, alright.” Renquist saw the need to intervene. He stood in between Ardyn and the other man. “Just a mishap on the streets of London. Nothing serious, eh? Come on now…”

Slowly the argument died. The man walked off into the distance, confused and disgruntled, but not harmed. Ardyn let his passion die down. He turned towards his guests with a bashful look.

“Ah, mea culpa, my dear,” Ardyn said first to Noctis, then to Renquist. “I’m sorry to have gotten so upset. Just that these London streets are so dastardly! A man can’t walk or stand still without infringing on someone else’s space.”

“Oh aye. Preaching to the choir, Izunia, I tell you.” Renquist patted Ardyn on the back sympathetically. “London can get rather stifling if you’re not careful!” 

Although, Noctis was nearly a hundred percent certain that Ardyn had faked that entire thing. Just fallen over in gross exaggeration when some random guy happened to walk past. Then he’d blame the whole thing on the passerby. A distraction. To get away from Noctis risking both their necks by volunteering his real name to Renquist.

Damn, but Ardyn was good in a tight spot. (Literally and…well.)

Noctis placed his hand gently on his escort’s shoulder. “I think we’d best go home now, dear.” 

Ardyn sighed regretfully. “Ah. You’re right, as ever, darling. Let’s call a hansom, shall we?” 

Renquist nodded in agreement. “Yes, definitely. Go home and ah…put your feet up, eh?” He winked at Ardyn where he thought Noctis couldn’t see. “Take a load off and relax. Don’t let these streets get to you.” 

“I will try my best, sir,” Ardyn said with a bow. “And you do the same. I hope we run into each other again sometime soon. Perhaps in better spirits.” 

“I daresay it’s likely! I’m out on the regular now, making the commute from the Mews to Kensington.” This was most likely a brag about the fact that he was wealthy enough to live in the Mews. “So, cheers!” 

They bid farewell to him and promptly climbed into a hansom.

Ardyn let out an exhausted breath when they were alone. “Sweet lord, Noct. We must do something about your command of quick to surface lies.” He massaged the bridge of his nose and eyed Noctis wearily. “You were about to say ‘Miss Caelum,’ weren’t you?”

Offended, Noctis shrugged. He could lie pretty damn well! Shit, his whole life was a lie wasn’t it! Or…something…ah, hell. Ardyn was right. “It…might have been the first thing that came to mind,” he admitted.

Ardyn wagged his head from side to side. “Ah, my dear. You bring me to my wits’ end…” 

“…Sorry.” Noctis knew he fucked up. Or nearly, if it hadn’t been for Ardyn’s quick thinking. “Um…thanks for covering.” 

Ardyn kept shaking his head. “…Ah, God’s balls. Giving it on the bounce in the middle of London…” 

“…What?” 

The hell did that mean? ‘Giving it on the bounce?’ Noctis had never heard the expression before. He also could not help noticing a strange twang in Ardyn’s speech when he said some of those words. Almost cockney, but…not? …It was barely there. Noctis only heard it because he knew Ardyn’s voice so well, knew exactly what it was supposed to sound like. And it was slightly off there. 

“Nothing.” Ardyn waved the matter away with one hand. “At any rate, we need to think of a proper name for you, darling. One that won’t get us clapped in irons any time soon.” 

His voice was back to normal. Noctis decided it was nothing. Maybe that was just some slang from Ardyn’s hometown or something. 

…Come to think of it, where was Ardyn’s hometown? 

They were oddly silent on the ride back to Engheld.

——————

 

By the time they reached Kingston Upon Thames, they were back in the mood for their usual activities. Noctis still felt bad about what he’d almost done, but Ardyn was ready to forgive him. To lick his wounds. Metaphorically. And, quite literally as it turned out. Ardyn had Noctis on his back with the young man’s cock in his mouth for nearly half an hour before Noctis gave in and spent. Ardyn had no right to be as good of a cocksucker as he was, and Noctis could only hold out for so long. On the fortunate side of things, Noctis was learning his own set of tricks to help him return the favor.

As the night dragged on, both of them satisfied to the fullest, Ardyn brought up the subject again.

“So. Have you given any thought to your new name?” 

Noctis froze in his lover’s arms. He didn’t think they were going to revisit this again so soon. 

“You mean in the two hours it’s been since the cab ride? Or when we were sucking each other off like our lives depended on it?”

Ardyn chuckled. He was always in a laughing mood after sex. “Well, yes, then. Or, maybe there’s been other times when the thought crossed your mind. Of what your female counterpart might liked to be called.”

Noctis buried his face against the weeping willow on Ardyn’s forearm. He wanted to hide in its branches for the time being. 

…Because yes, he had thought about it before. How could he not? There was a secret name already inside of him. He’d had it since birth. It was there all along. Nocits had whispered it to himself since childhood.

…Would it be alright if he said it now? In the privacy of Ardyn’s rooms? Where all their ideas were brought to the light?

“She is a bit different than you, isn’t she?” Ardyn mused. “Your female self. She’s…hmm. More thoughtful. She sees quite a lot of the world, all its hidden trappings.” 

Oh man. Noctis wished these branches were real. He didn’t want to raise his face, that was so embarrassing! Those words were exactly what he wanted to hear. How shameful was that?

“And of course, she’s an absolute minx with no compunctions about spending my money,” Ardyn continued, lightening the mood. “Clingy and demanding. Pitiless in a way that should probably frighten me…” 

Unable to stop himself, Noctis broke into a snort. That was a clear exaggeration, but. Ardyn did have a point. And Noctis was not going to pretend he wasn’t proud of that. “She…knows what she wants, I guess.” 

“That she does.” Ardyn combed his fingers through Noctis’s hair. “Let’s work on the given name first. I have a few ideas, you know.” 

Ironically, the given name was the part that Noctis cared the least about. His first name. He’d thought about it, but never seriously. He just wanted something that sounded nice.

“For one, I was thinking Leutha from _The Daughters of Albion_.” Ardyn’s eyes twinkled. He was dead serious—or, mostly.

“Hell no! The one from the Isle of Dogs?” Noctis would rather eat shit than carry that name! “Fuck you and fuck your Blake, man. That’s the worst name ever…” 

“Alright, alright.” Ardyn laughed good-naturedly, indicating that perhaps he had only offered that as a joke after all. “If you don’t like that, then how about something a bit more conventional? Shakespeare, hmm?” 

“Like what?” Noctis knew a polite smattering of Shakespeare, though not many specific female characters besides Ophelia. And he’d rather not go by the name of the suicidal girl who fell in love with Hamlet’s confused self…

“What about Viola? Our gender bending hero from _Twelfth Night_? She’s brave and true to herself. She wins people’s hearts as both a man and a woman.” Ardyn smiled wistfully. “Beyond that, her name remains a secret until the final scene. So there’s an aura of mystery about her. Viola is known only to herself, one could argue.” 

“Viola…” Noctis whispered the name to himself. He said it in his mind several times, fast then slow. He imagined himself—or the person he was when he wore women’s clothes—and imagined saying ‘Viola’ to his face in the mirror.

Did it fit? On the one hand, it was a pretty name. Sounded almost like ‘violet,’ which was the color of Noctis’s first dress. That had to mean something. On the other hand, it was a little…old? No one really called their daughters ‘Viola’ anymore.

So then he would be unique.

“I like it,” Noctis said cautiously. “I mean, I’ll think about it, but. Viola is…pretty good actually. …Thanks.” 

He beamed up at Ardyn, sort of surprised that Ardyn, the lover of nonconventional literature that he was, had managed to think of a name so well suited to Noctis. But then. Ardyn had managed to find the perfect dress and he often knew what Noctis wanted in bed well before Noctis himself, so. There was some piece of Noctis that Ardyn inherently understood.

Ardyn knew him. 

“As for your surname…” Ardyn sighed in defeat. “I’ll admit, I have no idea what family we should say you’re from.” 

“Actually, I already have a last name I want to use.” This was the name Noctis had carried around his whole life. It felt like he’d been waiting to use it—and now, in the safety of this bedroom where the layers of Noctis’s soul slowly peeled back one by one…he was going to say it. 

If not now, then when? This was the perfect opportunity. 

“Oh?” Ardyn titled his head curiously. “And what’s that?”

“Gainsborough.” The name flowed off Noctis’s tongue. It bore a thrill of power to be spoken aloud. 

“Gainsborough…” Ardyn repeated. He chewed the word carefully. “Yes, I believe that’s fine. Where’s it from?” 

“It’s my mother’s maiden name,” Noctis explained. “I know her side of the family as well as my father’s side, even though we’ve…fallen out of touch.” In the years since his mother’s death, but Noctis didn’t add that part. “She didn’t come from money; my mother was a country girl, so. I doubt many people here would know the name. But even if they did, I could talk about my Gainsborough relatives pretty easily. So it wouldn’t even be like lying, right?” 

A look of pure surprise passed over Ardyn. He was genuinely taken aback that Noctis had contrived the perfect pseudonym. Something different than his legal name, but not so different that they would need to practice the lie again and again. Close enough to the truth to sound real. Even Noctis—with his terrible poker face—could pass for a member of a family he knew from a distance.

“That’s perfect, my love,” Ardyn admitted.

“Isn’t it?”

They sat for a minute, absorbing the power of the name they had just created. What it meant. Then Ardyn said it aloud for both their sakes: “Viola Gainsborough.” 

Noctis raised his head in recognition. He needed to learn to answer to that name. It wouldn’t be hard with his mother attached to the end—the piece of himself that he loved the most: Aulea’s legacy. 

Ardyn’s gaze turned impish. “Viola Gainsborough,” he repeated. “Well. I’d say you’re a Dickens character, but I wouldn’t want to call the poor novelist trite—”

“Oh, fuck you.” Noctis swatted his lover’s chest. Still, they were both laughing.

They curled up together to go to sleep. Noctis needed to be back at the estate in the morning—Christmas preparations and such. They probably wouldn’t see each other for a few days. So, for sure then, Noctis would be repeating his new name over and over to himself. For practice, at least.

Right before they fell asleep, Noctis remembered what he wanted to ask. “Hey, Ardyn? Umm, sorry if this is weird to ask, but…where were you born?”

“Where was I born?” Ardyn held Noctis tighter without opening his eyes. “Why, here, of course. Engheld is the house of my childhood. I was born and raised in its bows.”

“Really? So then…you’re from London?”

“Indeed.”

“Like…originally?”

“Yes, Noct. You’re talking to a dyed in the wool Londoner.” He cracked one eye open. “Does that make you feel better?”

Noctis shook his head, willing away the frown on his face. “No, it’s not like that, or anything. It’s actually nothing. I was just curious.” 

That was true, although Ardyn’s answer hadn’t put his questions to rest. Even so. Noctis had been going to bed with this man for months. There was no secret a few nights in the sack couldn’t make up for. 

He honestly believed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Gainsborough. Sadly, we don't get Aulea's maiden name in any of the canon that I can find (boo) so I had to re-appropriate a name from another Final Fantasy game/character. Can you guess which one?? Hint: It's Aerith from Final Fantasy VII. So that's one mystery solved lol.
> 
> Now for the clothes:  
> [The greatcoat and cape Ardyn wears looks pretty much like this.](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/471892867187022067/) Except it’s Ardyn so it’s much shabbier lol. 
> 
> [The ladies boots Aranea gives to Noctis](http://www.thevikingstore.co.uk/ekmps/shops/thevikingstore1/images/costume-ladies-victorian-boots-6310-p.jpg) I love these. 
> 
> [A reference picture](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/c1/30/c8/c130c84bc13448c8bed46e42ece622bc.jpg) for what a lady in a winter cloak and muff in Victorian times might look like. 
> 
> So...if anyone was wondering why all the long chapters, I barely have any time to write during the work week. I stuff all my writing time into the weekends and the chapters turn into these long things. But I hope the pacing is okay! Gotta say, my head is all wrapped up in this AU. I'm already planning the sequels and shit *__* #thatlongficlife
> 
> Thanks for all your support, guys. I love you all <3 <3


	6. The invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is about more than just survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art is happening!!! 
> 
> [Prince-noctease (aka quiet) made an adorable, perfect doodle](https://jeejascoffee.tumblr.com/image/170166060407) of our heroes meeting for the first time Ravenscourt Park. Ardyn is such a gentleman ;) ;) ;) 
> 
> [roundnround (aka weirdfans) draw some MORE glorious art](https://78.media.tumblr.com/8daba9ca870ba90bbbe58e47ce275527/tumblr_messaging_p38movdowd1tesbmk_1280.jpg). This time it's Aranea getting Noctis dressed up for his day around town.
> 
> So much love, guys <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Now for the chapter! Mind the tags. This one gets a little bit darker. Kind of more...intense in some ways. Angst-y here and there. You'll be good. 
> 
> As for the notes:  
> [More on the role of a valet and lady’s maid](http://www.avictorian.com/servants_valet.html), if you want more information. A valet’s responsibilities included dressing, manicuring, shaving, and grooming the gentleman they worked for. A lady’s maid was responsible for mostly the same type of duties; dressing, manicuring, and accompanying the lady she served, but her real prowess shone through in her hairdressing skills.
> 
> [The rookeries](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rookery_\(slum\)) in the 18th and 19th centuries.
> 
> And! [The dress Luna is wearing at the new year’s party is an original from kazechama!](https://www.instagram.com/p/BeU1UkGF3IK/) Absolutely gorgeous. Our girl rocks it ;) 
> 
> Rest of the notes at the end!

**Chapter Six: The Invitation**

The Christmas holidays passed in an incredibly dull, slow manner. Dinner parties, a steady flow of guests in and out of the estate. Family, professional colleagues in the House of Lords. Judges, ministers, members of parliament. The best, brightest, and most influential people of London all come to pay homage to Regis Caelum at his myriad galas before the end of the year.

By December the 26th, Noctis was ready to hang himself from the drapes.

It was _torture_. He knew all the gentlemen’s names and faces—had known them since his childhood. They spoke of the same drab topics. The war. South Africa. Noctis’s prospects as an up-and-coming in the House of Lords. How Noctis might fair when he donned the robes himself and became the new Lord Caelum, years down the line. Who he might find favor with, who would utterly hate him from the start. The men’s own poor version of a fantasy told in the pristine, grandiose smoking rooms of the Caelum estate.

Noctis nodded along. His polite manner grew strained in less than a week of this treatment of guests. As usual. Regis cast him unfavorable looks from time to time throughout the evening, reminding him to keep his tone even. To stay focused on the conversation and contribute, like any other well-bred gentleman.

But the suits were too stiff. Ignis dressed Noctis in the finest coats and attire known to man, and yet…Noctis felt like he was wearing rags. The silk cravat around his throat. The plain red waistcoat, no embroidery to speak of (because men of good breeding didn’t put embellishments on their attire lest they wanted to look like a fop). The straining black breeches, the fob watch chain hanging near his waist. Sure, Noctis knew he looked good. Obviously. He was pulling it off. But…for fuck’s sake.

He so badly wanted to slip into his _other_ clothes. _Viola’s_ clothes. (He started calling himself by that name in his own mind from time to time. Every once and a while. Just to get himself used to the facade. He found the name fit him better than he thought it might). If only he were spending the holidays at Engheld…

…He wondered how Ardyn occupied himself during Christmas. Yes, of course, his lover typically seemed to have invitations to an astonishing number of parties. On any given day, Ardyn might be invited to dinner by some middle-aged lord or to a gentleman’s club with a few chaps, all of whose names he knew. Ardyn was popular. No doubt about that. He exuded a certain charm. People liked him, even if they could not say they knew anything about him, really. Ardyn made good conversation and that was all you needed. In the cozy parlors of men and women starving for a good bit of fun, Ardyn was more or less a king. 

Or a jester. One of those.

How did Ardyn meet all these people? Hardly a mystery. Ardyn made friends every time he shook hands. He had that kind of face. People remembered him because they wanted to—because Ardyn wanted them to. Mutually manufactured acquaintances. 

Noctis wrinkled his nose and pretended he didn’t care. Sure, Ardyn could smooth talk whoever the hell he wanted. Wasn’t that the purview of the middle class? Forever trying to woo their way up the social ladder? It was fine by Noctis.

Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else got to know Ardyn the way Noctis knew him. No one else took Ardyn to bed and made hell-raising love until the early hours of the day—

….Right?

Like a death march, the galas proceeded. 

Only way to get through? Well. Noctis drank a bit more than usual. He drank enough that he hardly remembered the last few hours of the year. A few (or so) rounds of port after dinner and suddenly it was 1857.

The best part of the New Year’s day celebrations was the dinner party at the Tummult House where Luna was in attendance. Yes, Regis was there (as was Meryl and Ravus and half the _ton_ in its entirety). Still, it was nice to see Luna again. She wore a pale lavender evening gown that—far from washing out her fair skin—made her somehow seem…shinier. The white lace around the collar left her shoulders exposed, and the mirroring white lace around the hemline near her feet made her seem as if she were floating. Only a small dark blue bow to compliment the ensemble right where the bodice met the skirt. The gown was understated, but in that it made her elegant. Luna didn’t need flashy patterns or an excess of jewelry to make herself beautiful.  


Her confidence was the only accessory she needed. A tight smile and smart eyes. Everything feminine assembled into one meticulous package. 

Noctis was entranced by her. He wanted that aura—that… _that_ , the something she carried…he wanted to figure out how she did that. 

It would take him years, probably, to be as pretty as Luna. She was so natural and perfect—

—Except, to be fair, her hair was kind of a mess. Noctis stared at Luna nearly the entire night, trying to think of a better way to style her blonde locks. She was wearing tight braids near her forehead and around the bun near the top of her head. That severe line just didn’t suit her. Her hair should be more natural, free flowing, piled on top of her head in loose curls marybe…

Hmm. Noctis sipped champagne and wondered why Luna’s lady’s maid wasn’t doing right by her. 

Prompto was also in attendance. The Tummult House party was tradition after all, the Argentums had been invited for years. But, it was the first time Noctis and Prompto saw each other since their strange parting back in November. 

Yet, as soon as Prompto laid eyes on Noctis he ran right up to him. Nervous and excited all at once—blue eyes wide, eyebrows up in that expression he wore (not realizing how kittenish he looked). As if he didn’t remember everything that had come between them—or as if he just didn’t care anymore. Life went on, after all. For him, anyway.

“Dude…!” Prompto leaned in to whisper rapidly. “Is it true? Are you and Luna courting? Like, for real?”

Oh. So that’s what he was excited about. 

Noctis shrugged and took another sip of champagne. “Yeah, kinda. I guess.”

“Kinda?” Prompto’s eyes shone so bright they looked almost teary. “Noct, come on, man. Luna is _amazing._ Seriously.” He tilted his head down to give his friend an incredulous look. “And, I don’t know, but…I think she’s into you!”

“Luna?” Frowning, Noctis glanced back at young woman in question. His childhood friend. From France. Several lifetimes ago. 

The girl who was everything—but not everything Noctis wanted in a partner. Everything he wanted to _be_.

A cold sort of realization washed through him. His stomach turned sour and he took another sip of champagne. A liberal one.

“I don’t know, Prom,” Noctis said, wishing the champagne was brandy or scotch instead. “Maybe.”

He thought he saw smoke coming out of Prompto’s ears. “Dude. You. Need. To. Get. On. That. I mean it! You’d be the worst kind of idiot to turn Luna down! She’s like…a princess or a goddess or, you know…” 

Sensing something, Prompto’s eyes darkened. “…also, are you okay?”

This conversation was making Noctis sick. Everything felt wrong. Indescribably, gruesomely wrong. His life was running on a track by itself—a horse with no rider. Galloping wildly in the nearest possible direction: The trajectory of the life Noctis was meant to have. In a perfect world, Noctis would have courted Luna properly the way everyone wanted. They would get married, carry on the Caelum line. He would don the robes of the House of Lords and make decisions for the common man with the rest of his fellows. The cycle would continue as it was meant to, bringing everyone Noctis cared about happiness and joy.

But it was wrong. …Why was it so wrong? Why did the idea of standing at Luna’s side, holding a baby or maybe even a small child, just feel so…terrible?

He wished he could say that he didn’t know why. The truth was, he did know. He knew, but he wasn’t ready to say it yet. Not to himself, not to anyone.

Besides, knowing didn’t make it any easier. That truth wasn’t his reality. 

Darkness, deep sadness and bitterness, swelled up inside him and turned to anger. Then hate. For everyone standing in this house like they were so happy with everything—fuck them all. For being good at this, being what they were supposed to be—

“Is Cindy here?” Noctis’s hand balled into a fist. He downed the rest of his champagne. 

“Cindy?” Prompto looked taken aback. “Uh, no. She’s…celebrating with her own friends.” 

The blond blinked hard. A nervous tick. Noctis knew Prompto well enough to spot it—something was wrong there. Trouble in paradise? In another world—the one where everything was normal and worked out like it should—Prompto might have explained the whole situation top to bottom. Noctis wanted to know (honestly, he missed Prompto. More than a little bit). He wanted to help and do the whole ‘best friend’ thing.

But this was not the well-adjusted timeline. This was the world where Noctis felt like shit and acted like it.

“Well,” Noctis shrugged one shoulder apathetically. “Don’t let her hear you talk about Luna like that. Might hurt your chances, don’t you think?” 

Hurt spread across his friend’s face. Prompto lips turned down at the corners. “What….?” The word barely escaped him.

Noctis couldn’t look him in the eye. Not after _that._ He turned his back and made some excuse to the nearest footman. Something about not feeling well. He didn’t look for Regis; he didn’t look for Luna either. In fact, he’d only managed to say hello to Luna briefly that night and he did not say goodbye. 

Nyx was waiting for him (and Regis, technically) in the carriage outside the Tummult House. When he saw Noctis alone, he gave a start, thinking something might have happened. But Noctis waved him down. He just wanted to go home. Shaking his head slowly (hell, it wasn’t the first party Noctis had prematurely ditched), Nyx agreed to drive him and then come back for Regis afterwards.

In the brougham, Noctis closed his eyes and tried to think. He’d been such an asshole to Prompto. He needed to apologize…but when, really? Not like he and Prompto hung out anymore. Besides, how could he explain himself? How could he describe the feeling of being lost inside your own head to the point that you didn’t know where to turn? What to believe about yourself? 

He missed Ardyn. A lot. Hs body missed Ardyn—fuck yeah it did—but also… _he_ missed him. He wished they were laying in bed next to each other talking about poetry or fucking or just laying there sharing the same space. Sometimes Noctis liked that best. The feeling of being bare—naked, stripped to the soul by an orgasm too intense for either of them—and still together. Accepting what they both knew. The faces they’d made during the act, the things they’d done. The things they wanted to do tomorrow. The tattoos etched into Ardyn’s skin, the rouge staining Noctis’s lips. The comfort.

Noctis really wanted to see Ardyn again. His longing for the other man cut through him like a knife. Neck to stomach. Cock twitching with the memory of what it needed.

Maybe he should ask Nyx to take him to Kingston Upon Thames. Surprise Ardyn. Spend the night with his lover instead…oh god how he wanted that.

And yes, it was folly. Of course it was. This part of him, the son of Regis Caelum, did not fit in with the rest of Ardyn’s world. A young lord had no business with a middle class rake. They both knew that. It was one of the reasons why they didn’t exchange letters during the holiday, why they were never seen in public as Ardyn Izunia and Noctis Caelum. That relationship—even the briefest association—didn’t work.

Furthermore, his mind—traitorous as always—supplied Noctis with an image of Ardyn sleeping with someone else. Maybe one of the ‘boys at the club’ Renquist mentioned. Maybe a fallen woman, someone Ardyn had met or hired for the night as a way to celebrate. Or, hell, one of those beautiful young sisters he’d seen in Hyde Park. Fucking each other through the night to ring in the new year good and hard. While Noctis sat outside in the cold, feeling bridled and saddled by his own skin.

Fuck no. He couldn’t go to Engheld tonight. He would have to live with the idea that Ardyn might be sleeping with other people—any of the men and women who loved to share his company. Noctis could live with it (he could, really, it wasn’t like he and Ardyn were actually courting in real life with terms of exclusivity or anything—not at all!). But he did not have to go out searching for it. If he surprised Ardyn tonight he might very well see his lover in the arms of a stranger—

He shook his head hard. He needed to not think about that. Or about anything. He needed to just… _not,_ right now.

Instead of letting Nyx take him home, Noctis asked to be dropped off at the nearest pub. It was a rough one—actually, Noctis might have been there before—and a few of the men around the bar spotted the young master Caelum for a noble as soon as he walked in the door. Still. He was here for a reason. Not to make friends, obviously. 

So Noctis drank the strongest gin in the place. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he got shitfaced, but he vaguely remembered deciding to challenge a roustabout to an arm wrestling match. And he remembered how that quickly dissolved into a fist fight (who was a dirty, lying, rat-faced sharper, again?). He mostly didn’t remember getting into a knockdown drag out brawl with most of the guys in there. But he remembered Gladiolus busting in (on a word from Nyx) to come save his ass. Like usual. The next morning he woke up, bandaged and hungover, to a concerned Ignis. 

This was the natural rhythm of his life. Getting into shit, getting bailed out by his friends. It sucked, and it still felt weirdly wrong now, but at least it was one normal thing Noctis could successfully pull off.

___________________________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_16 January, 1857  
_ _Saturday — Midday_

Immediately after New Year’s there was a frightening snowstorm. Snowfall in London was a miserable affair anyway because the snow mingled with the fog and industrial smog of the city, making the snow seem ashen grey as it fell. It was impossible to see an inch in front of your face in that mess, so most people were trapped indoors until passed. Two weeks, by the end.

Regis refused to speak to Noctis for exactly four days as punishment for what happened at the Tummult party. So the house was pretty quiet.

Thinking he might go insane (he couldn’t even go for a ride on Quartz in this disgusting muck, Noctis absolutely hated winter), the young lord cooled his heels by sneaking out towards the end of the second week of entrapment. He found a ladies finery store in Chelsea and bought himself some new things. A new corset, some thick undergarments to keep himself warm. More stockings. Another set of garters (this would be his fourth or fifth pair. After that first time, he and Ardyn found they shared a…penchant for the things. So Ardyn often had a special gift waiting for Noctis when he arrived for another day of gallivanting). Things he did not technically need, but that made him happy to buy. A reminder that this—the grayness and slimy, wretched cold—was not going to last forever. He’d be seeing Ardyn soon enough, on their regular terms. As Viola Gainsborough.

He reminded himself of that fact every few minutes. To keep from screaming at the top of his lungs into the silence of the estate. 

The cashier in Chelsea was impressed Noctis knew so much about women’s underthings. Noctis smiled and explained that his woman (he didn’t bother giving her a name or even a title, like sweetheart, betrothed, or wife) had very specific tastes. If the cashier suspected something, or if he thought the entire thing was strange, he didn’t mention.

Even as a man, Noctis knew how to get what he wanted. At least as far as spending money was concerned. 

By Saturday, once most of the snow had thawed, Noctis was at last able to make the journey to Kingston Upon Thames. He strolled through the gate (not commenting as Ulldor held it open for him, in fact strangely reassured by the sight of the stoic man after so many weeks away) and practically ran towards the front door. Sure enough, Ardyn greeted him on the other side of the threshold.

“Good morning, Noct,” Ardyn drawled, stepping aside to let his young lover in the door. He was barely dressed, as always, not even a waistcoat to this name. His wild crimson hair contrasted harshly with the snow that lingered everywhere, reflecting more light onto the master of Engheld House. 

“You’re looking as f—”

But Noctis didn’t give him the chance to finish. He threw himself into Ardyn’s arms and dug his fingers into the loose cloth around Ardyn’s chest. The first thing he did was inhale—deeply—he wanted to smell the older man again, that inimitable scent of musk, sweat, and distant cologne. …He also wanted to see if there was any other scent on Ardyn. A stranger’s smell. Noctis thought he might be able to smell a women’s perfume or some stranger’s aftershave. He could use Ardyn’s own skin as proof. If he tasted the skin on his lover’s neck, would he taste someone else’s mouth, some leftover rouge…? 

“What…my dear, what is this?” Ardyn let his hands rest on Noctis’s shoulders. He was still smiling, but his eyebrows were knitted. Perplexed. After all, the younger man was quite literally sniffing him intimately and licking his neck like a sailor tasting the wind. To say that Ardyn was completely surprised would have been a lie—there was very little about Noctis and his instinctual behavior that would surprise Ardyn anymore—but this was…new.

Ardyn spooned one large hand around the back of Noctis’s head. (Ah yes, those black locks were still growing. Perhaps enough to be gathered in the back with a hair tie…) “Did something happen?” he whispered.

Noctis opened his mouth and sucked hard on the juncture of Ardyn’s neck and shoulder. Leaving a reddening mouth surrounded by teeth impressions that would stay for at least a day. (Ulldor had walked away by this point.) The older man grunted as he felt the sting of that mark, but one side of his lips twitched upward. Intrigued, to say the least.

“…No.” Noctis ran his thumb over the mark he’d made on Ardyn’s shoulder. Thankfully, that could be covered by any shirt and coat, but Noctis felt infinitely better regardless. “No, nothing happened.” 

Actually that was true. From Noctis’s perspective, he’d been thrust into the bland routine of normalcy he called regular life (pub brawl included) and nothing else of substance had happened to him in nearly a month. And, there were no strange enduring scents or tastes on his lover’s neck. So perhaps Ardyn had not been with anyone else….at least not since his last bath. Which was probably a good three days ago, judging by the older man’s usual habits. 

He could live with that. 

Ardyn frowned again. Noctis looked pale (of course, they all were, who had been going outside in this miserable weather) and there were dark smudges under his eyes. His neck looked a bit more sinewy, his face just a shade thinner. His left cheek looked a bit green and yellow. Likely a bruise had been there and quickly healed. If Ardyn were to be honest and use his best judgement, he would say that Noctis didn’t look so well. 

Had he been ill? Or…somehow Ardyn did not think so.

He lifted Noctis’s chin and pressed a kiss to the young man’s cheeks. First the right, then the left. Enough to make the softest sounds. 

“Are you alright, Noct?” Ardyn’s gold eyes swam with some emotion Noctis had never seen before. A world away from the usual carefree look that resided in those eyes. This was…concern. 

But a soothing sense of relief had just washed through Noctis. He didn’t feel the same grayness he’d been plagued with the past few weeks. Little by little, with Ardyn’s rough hands touching him so gently, a ray of light broke through the clouds. 

Thank god he’d made it. Now they were together again. As promised. 

Noctis closed his eyes and flashed Ardyn a tight smile. “Never better.” 

“Hmm.” Not satisfied, but seeing some tension drain out of the younger man, Ardyn pecked him on the lips. “Well, at any rate, I hope you were the winner.” 

It didn’t surprise Noctis that Ardyn knew he’d been in a fight. Everything about Ardyn, from his leathery skin to his mysterious tattoos, implied the fact that this man had seen his fair share of rough housing. Maybe even much worse than what Noctis was used to. Who the hell knew.

He shrugged, licking his lips to taste the saliva left over from the kiss. Noctis liked how the smell of spit and each other already clouded the space between them. “Are there ever any winners in a pub fight?” 

Raising an eyebrow, Ardyn considered that. “Perhaps not. Some might say to act is to lose.” 

He coiled his arms tighter around the young lord. Encircling him—protectively almost. Noctis let his head fall to Ardyn’s shoulder. He wished Ardyn had been there in the fight. Not because he wanted Ardyn to see him at his sloppiest, drunkest state (although, what difference did it make now after everything they’d done together?), but because he wanted to see Ardyn use his fists. In defense of Noctis’s honor! Or, whatever reason he liked. He wondered what kind of fighter Ardyn was…probably a great one, with that staunch pair of legs to support him…

“Oi, Caelum. Get upstairs already. You look like shit.” 

Aranea’s voice brought him back to reality. He hadn’t even heard her approach, which was unusual. He’d really be reveling in the space between Ardyn’s arms…and he didn’t exactly want to leave.

Playful—settling back into his usual self at last—Noctis turned around to face Aranea. He stayed pressed against the older man, toying with a set of tough hands just to show that he could. He wasn’t embarrassed to be around Aranea anymore. Not by a long shot—she’d helped him with so much.

“Hey,” Noctis called, leaning his head against Ardyn’s chest. “Happy New Year.”

Aranea put her hands on her hips and sighed. “Well, happy fucking new year to all and to all a good fuck. Or however the expression goes.”

“Miss Highwind, you are a treasure among women,” Ardyn declared in amusement. Noctis could not remember ever hearing a woman curse like that. Besides Aranea, of course. 

“I’ll cheers to that,” Noctis added. He heard a brief snort from Aranea’s direction. A rare sign of genuine amusement. 

Looking around Engheld House felt…nice. The darkly painted walls and sparse furniture appeared bleak at first. But surrounded by people who knew him and respected him—Ardyn, his paramount, Aranea, his big sister, and even Ulldor who kept an eye out for them in his own way—this place felt cozier than any parlor Noctis had been in over the holiday season. This dreary townhouse felt like home.

Smiling lingering secretly on her face, Aranea started up the stairs. “Alright, alright. Let’s fix you up. Come on.” 

A trickle of excitement—the first he’d genuinely felt since the last time he’d been here—rushed through Noctis. He pressed a kiss to Ardyn’s hand teasingly and followed his lady’s maid.

———————

“So you’re saying I should call you Miss Gainsborough from now on?” Aranea asked as she fiddled with Noctis’s hair. He was dressed in the purple day gown, with a wool shawl over his arms to keep him warm. Now Aranea was trying to figure out something to do with his hair. It was long enough to fashion some kind of style, but it stubbornly refused to by held by a tie. Pin straight, Noctis’s hair was.

“Only when I’m dressed like…you know. This.” Noctis turned his face side to side, watching carefully what Aranea did with his hair. It felt good when she played with it—yet another perk of long locks. Noctis also liked seeing it pulled away from his face. Gathered on top would be fine, he’d still be wearing the bonnet anyway. 

“Hmm. Alright. I can do that, no problem, miss.” As the words rolled off her tongue, Aranea didn’t even glance up from her handiwork. She was rather focused on arranging her charge’s rebellious, silky hair. And the words did not seem to bother her.

Noctis sighed in relief. Another piece fell into place. From now on when he put on the dresses, he’d be stepping into the life of another person. The woman he’d slowly started to become as the days he spent strolling through town on Ardyn’s arm went by. 

What kind of woman would he become—would she become? Viola, that is. Noctis looked at his female counterpart in the mirror and tried to decide. He had some idea what he wished he could be. Memories of lavender and white lace. A friendly, mysterious smile. But could he really pull it off?

“Maybe in another week or so I can tie some braids around the sides.” Aranea eyed Noctis’s hair with intense scrutiny. Imagining what she might be able to do. “What do you think of that?” 

Braids? Noctis patted his bangs. Would he look…? Hell, it might just be fun to try. Real braids. Like the ladies wore.

He glanced back up at Aranea, nodding his consent. He trusted this woman so much. She had some kind of natural feel for what she did—an instinct for the work. She was always finding little touches to add to the ensemble. A new shade of rouge to compliment his complexion. A pair of short silk gloves. A chemisette with a different cut around the throat to accentuate his smooth neck. Aranea was indeed a finely trained lady’s maid through and through.

It made Noctis wonder sometimes…why was she working as Ardyn’s housekeeper? A woman as talented as her—Noctis had half a mind to offer her services to Luna! (Maybe she could help Luna with her hair, if she could make Noctis look halfway decent with his short bob.) Aranea was capable of serving any lady she wanted. So why had she chosen to work at Engheld?

“Hey, um…” Noctis raised his eyes to meet Aranea’s in the mirror. “Do you…like, ever think about working somewhere else?” He saw her frown. “Not that—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love having you here! Like you’re…” How did he describe it? “You’re an amazing lady’s maid, Aranea. And that’s kind of my point. Couldn’t you make more money working on an estate?” 

No doubt Ardyn could only pay her a fraction of what she was really worth. Noctis had always known that, but it seemed so unfair once he knew Aranea’s skill level.

For a brief moment, Aranea said nothing. Her lips worked themselves into a straight line. But her eyes never lost focus. “Have I thought about it?” she asked. “Sure. …Except, yeah. This isn’t one of those mind over matter type deals. Thinking about it isn’t going to help me much.” 

Even though he didn’t know the first thing about her situation, Noctis nodded. He knew that feeling well enough. His connection with Aranea—being at her mercy through the days—made him want to know more. He was comfortable enough to ask.

“So…you can’t find a job?” He shook his head in disbelief. “How is that possible? I could recommend you to any of the ladies I know and they’d be lucky to have you—”

“You could recommend me,” Aranea put the comb down. Her lips were small. Face drawn, serious. Worn. “But it’s not like any of those ladies would actually hire me once they found out my history.” 

“…History?”

Aranea always walked around with an air of heaviness clinging to her slim figure. Noctis had never been able to pinpoint what that feeling actually was—anger, he thought sometimes, surliness, or general disdain—but now he could see it on her stronger than ever. Aranea might have been grimacing. He couldn’t tell because the look seemed so natural on her.

“…What’s the deal?” Her alto voice sounded angry. “What are you trying to get me to say?”

“I just…” Noctis turned around to face her properly. He made eye contact and held her gaze in his. “…wanted to know, is all. Because I…” He shrugged. 

How could he say that he was depending on her so much? Didn’t she know? The strange, reciprocal sort of dependence a lady had on her maid. Noctis had all of that for Aranea ten times over. She created the face he would show to the world, as Viola. She hid his most compromising secrets with the grace of her skill. Noctis just wanted to know why she agreed to any of it when she deserved so much better. 

“…You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” It was the best he could come up with. The fairest. 

Aranea sighed. She brushed silver bangs out of her face and sighed softly. Driven to distraction, she begin to clean up the casks of cosmetics strewn about the bed. “No, it’s fine. I’ll tell you my whole…whatever. You could ask any of the other lady’s maids out there and they’d be able to tell you the same story, so you might as well hear it from me.” Her hands moved with careful kind of furiousness. “You could have just asked Izunia, too, you know.” 

“He said he didn’t know.” That was true. Ardyn threw his hands in the air when Noctis asked how on earth he’d managed to hire someone as good as Aranea.

“Tch!” Aranea’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “That idiot…why is he so damn chivalrous at the weirdest times? He wouldn’t tell me your deal either when I wanted to know why we were doing all of this. Left me to assume the worst.” She shook her head. “What a….well, anyway.” 

She swept her ponytail off her shoulder and began. “My mother was a governess, but she had me out of wedlock. So by the time I was born, she was already a disgraced woman living in the rookeries. She had me trained as lady’s maid as early as possible. Tried everything she could to get me out. And she did. I had the best education around. Great prospects when I finished.” 

The rookeries. Noctis suppressed a shiver. The darkest parts of London, the slums where criminals and prostitutes fled the light of day. Starving people, riddled with whatever disease you might find in the horrors of the night, clung to what life they could…Noctis was born as far away from the rookeries as it was possible to be. He had no idea what those parts of town were like for real—the kinds of things Aranea had seen growing up.

She seemed unashamed of that truth. Though Noctis was admittedly rattled. He’d never known anyone from the rookeries before. He…didn’t know what to say. Or think.

Aranea continued. “When I was 16, I found a position as a maid for Miss Adelaide Shaw. You know the family? The Shaws? Jacob Shaw, on the House of Lords? Or, he used to be."

Yes, Noctis had heard the name before in fact. Not so much recently though. Lord Shaw had taken a leave of absence from his lordly duties and retired somewhere in the country with his family a few years back. In the wake of some tragedy, but Noctis couldn’t remember what…

…Oh. He winced. Yeah, he could see where this was going. 

Pain pierced his chest and he rushed to Aranea’s side. He gripped her hand—the same way she had done for him when she offered to sneak him out of the house. A feeble solace, but the only thing he could think to give. 

She smiled at him wearily. Without amusement. “It seems you have heard the name before. So then you must know what comes next.” She took a deep breath. “Miss Shaw and I were quite close. I was young, but I did whatever I needed to do for her. Adelaide was the kind of person who noticed that. She…didn’t see me as where I came from, either. She saw me as what I wanted to be: A damn good lady’s maid. It was…nice. She doted on me like a true friend. We…” Aranea sniffed hard. Collecting herself. “We were like sisters in a way. You know what I mean? Guess it might sound weird or improper, but—”

“No, no.” Noctis thought immediately of Ignis. He’d grown up seeing his valet as his brother, from the time they were old enough to call each other by name. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

Aranea nodded. She returned his grip, holding his hand in hers. “Yeah. You seem like the same type of person she was. I bet you’re great with your servants.”

Taking a moment, Aranea gazed out the window. The sheen from the glass reflected in her eyes. “Anyway, after what happened…”

“I only heard rumors,” Noctis quickly admitted. “But…”

“They’re probably all true.” Aranea nodded curtly. Accepting the facts as they were. “Here’s the gist: One night, a burglar snuck in through the window of Miss Shaw’s bedroom. He was probably only there to steal, but…maybe Adelaide woke up while he was at it. Maybe she frightened him or maybe he was the kind of person who just…I don’t know. But he killed her that night. Slashed her throat. And…other places.”

A sour taste spread across Noctis’s tongue. Now he remembered the stories. They were all pretty gruesome; people alleged that Miss Shaw had been beaten, slashed, raped and everything in between. Of course people tended to embellish a story like that by degrees every time it was repeated. So Noctis hadn’t really put much stock into the tales other than the hard fact of a burglary gone wrong. Seeing Aranea’s face now, he hoped that was all that really happened.

“I’m the one who found her the next morning. It was our routine—she liked her tea by seven so…yeah.” 

Noctis squeezed her hands harder. He clenched his eyes shut to dispel the image that brought to his mind. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of nightmare that was—discovering your dearest friend in such a way. He never wanted to think about it again. 

“I’m so sorry, Aranea. That’s…” Awful didn’t come close to describing what that was. He realized now what made her seem so heavy all the time: Grief. Aranea wore her grief like a tattered shawl. Making the best of it, but resigned to a certain level of raggedness no matter what. 

She sniffed again. Her eyes looked dimmer. She’d probably repeated this story many times (to the police and whatnot). And she lived with those memories every day no matter what. 

“…Afterwards, Mr. Shaw decided to move the rest of his family out to Epsom. Fresh start. And well, Mr. Shaw didn’t have any other daughters so. There wasn’t a job left for me to do. Had no choice but to dismiss me. With rumors like that flying around, no one wanted to touch me.” Aranea sighed. “They’d already be taking a chance bringing in a product of the rookeries. And don’t you think that naturally invites a kind of wrongness, a lady's maid from the gutters? Some people say I had a hand in what happened to Adelaide. Even though it’s not true, the scandal alone is enough to make me completely useless to any noblewoman in London.” 

An indisputable truth. Noctis would have expected the same fate from any lady’s maid with a slaughtered mistress, but the same was doubly true for Aranea and her unsavory origins.

“So.” She threw her hands up. “Back to destitution I went. My mother was ill at the time. I ended up using most of my severance pay from Mr. Shaw for her treatments. When she passed, I was left to my own devices. I took up sewing, cleaning, sweeping, everything I could to stay alive. Except…some things I wouldn’t do, you understand?”

Noctis nodded. He didn’t need to ask what.

“It was difficult. Damn near impossible. Once people—even the people I took sewing work from—found out what happened with Miss Shaw, I was immediately replaced. A story like that sticks to you in the worst way, Miss Gainsborough. I’ll tell you that.” 

She glanced at the door. “Then, about a year ago, this Izunia guy showed up out of nowhere. People said some decently oiled stranger moved into the old Lucis place—Engheld, I mean—and that he had no housekeeper. I jumped at the chance to apply. Mr. Izunia hired me on the spot. Said he could only pay me part time, two days a week, but that he didn’t mind a housekeeper with any kind of history.” She shrugged. “Guess that was his way of saying he knew about me. And that he didn’t care. So, naturally, I took the job. Didn’t even need to think twice.” 

Taking a deep breath, Aranea regarded Noctis again. The shadow had passed. She seemed lighter now that the story was finished. They were caught up to the present. And Aranea seemed relatively at peace with where she had ended up. She cradled Noctis’s hand in her lap and tilted her head. 

“The pay’s not much you’re right,” she admitted. “But with the odd jobs I took on the side, it was enough for me to move out of the rookeries. Got a place in Stepney now. It’s nice.” She shrugged. “Yeah. I think I’m pretty lucky—it was a really good thing that Mr. Izunia showed up when he did. If he hadn’t hired me…well, who knows. Might be on my back in St. Giles right now. If you’ll pardon me saying so, miss.” 

Noctis nodded with a grimace. “Right. I’m…really glad you’re here, Aranea. Thank you for all your help.” He clicked his teeth, knowing that what he was going to say could not make up for all the rotten things in her life. “I know I don’t say it enough probably, but yeah.” 

He gestured to himself awkwardly. “Thanks.”

Blinking slowly, Aranea squeezed his hand in return. “Yeah. I get it. And uh…I’ll try to be a good lady’s maid for you too, Miss, ah, Gainsborough.” She winked at him conspiratorially. 

He probably shouldn’t have, Noctis pulled her in for a hug. They shared a moment. This was the other kind of feeling Noctis had learned to put a name on. Being seen and known at the same time. It was a precious, unique experience. He hoped that Aranea could feel the same way around him. She deserved that kind of solace. 

“That said, I wouldn’t go trusting Mr. Izunia with my life or anything.” 

Noctis made to stand up. “Why’s that?”

“Well…” Aranea shrugged. “I just wouldn’t, is all. He came out of nowhere, you understand? No one comes from nothing. Of course he’s got a past. He just doesn’t want us to know what it is. So that means it’s probably something…not so great.” 

…Yeah, that logic added up. It made sense. Ardyn was a man who said nothing about his family or his upbringing. He claimed to have been brought up in this house, but he was selling the furniture piece by piece to make ends meet. Not to mention, the tattoos. There were glaring holes in who Ardyn said he was.

Even so…

“But, you said it was a good thing he showed up, right?” Noctis reminded her.

“Yeah.” Aranea would readily agree to that. “For me.” 

The implication was clear, but Noctis didn’t need to think it over. He knew that no matter what—whatever Ardyn was trying to hide—it had been a good thing for Noctis too when he manifested suddenly in London. Out of nowhere or wherever the hell else. 

“Me too,” he replied. Certain of his words.

———————

They were strolling through Paddington today. Noctis thought the water looked striking with the ice beginning to melt. Trapped between the phases. He stared curiously as the ships came to dock, moving blocks of ice out of their way as they passed. It was cold, but not that cold. Warm enough to make this walk enjoyable. Ardyn’s arm felt nice between his hands. 

He squeezed a little closer to the man. In winter that was acceptable, a couple huddling for warmth. It didn’t have to mean anything. But Noctis wished there was a way for Ardyn to understand that he didn’t need to hide so much around Noctis. That Noctis was planning on being there with him—as his woman, or whatever—even if the truth should be as bleak as Aranea suspected.

He watched Ardyn staring at the ice floes curiously.

_You don’t have to pretend around me,_ Noctis wanted to say. _You can tell me anything. Whatever is it. I know you, don’t I?_

He did know Ardyn. Not the truth, maybe, but the man. They’d shared that much at least, hadn’t they? In bed. On the streets of London, putting on a charade for the rest of the world, for what? Their own amusement? Satisfying an itch?

The skin around Ardyn’s nose and cheeks turned red beneath the biting wind. Noctis thought he looked incredibly handsome. He wanted to plant a kiss right on the tip of that nose. To warm his face in his hands. To give Ardyn a nip of brandy by a warm fireplace (the likes of which you could not find in Engheld). To share warmth between their bodies underneath a fur blanket. 

…Were those desires part of the charade? Part of ‘scratching an itch’? It would have been easy to say that they were, but…Noctis didn’t think so. 

“Hey…” He got Ardyn’s attention, smiling when their eyes met. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask. But he didn’t feel rushed either. They had all day. Let the words flow as they would. 

It seemed Ardyn was lost in thought. He looked at Noctis wistfully. The way he did when he had something on his mind. Slowly, his eyes came into focus and alighted on Noctis in all his feminine splendor. “Yes, my dear?” 

“Umm…” Noctis shifted his weight. He wished he could press their foreheads together, but that would have been inappropriate. For any man and woman. “…Do you think—”

“Ah, Izunia! By jove, we meet again!” 

A familiar voice brought their focus back to the street. A scrawny man, blond hair with a receding hairline, waved to them. He was wearing an expensive suit. Too clean and too new. Just bought, perhaps. 

Renquist. 

At least it was just him. They relaxed a bit when they recognized his face.

“Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” Renquist called, grinning from ear to ear. “1857! What a time to be alive, eh? How are you both? Well I hope?”

Ardyn spread his arms wide in a show of congeniality. “Ah, yes, happy new year, Mr. Renquist! This year has been kind to us so far, I must say.”

(Speak for yourself, Noctis wanted to add.)

“Wonderful!” Renquist shook hands with Ardyn and tipped his hat politely to Noctis. “I’m so glad to hear you’ve had a good go of it. Hope you didn’t celebrate too much, Mr. Izunia.” He winked and Noctis’s pulse flared.

What the hell did _that_ mean? Too much of a good time? Ardyn? 

“I kept myself within the limits of moderation, thankfully,” his lover replied with a smirk. “…I’m not a saint, of course, nor a minister, but. We all do what we can.”

Renquist burst out laughing. He appreciated the sly joke immensely. It seemed that perhaps he had approached them expecting something very similar to this and now he was not disappointed. 

Noctis tried not to fume too much. 

“Very good, sir, very good.” Renquist composed himself and turned to the lady present. “And you, miss? How’s your family doing?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Noctis answered with a courteous nod of his head. 

“Excellent. Tell me, Izunia, do you fancy a spot of gentlemanly shooting?” 

Shooting. Noctis knew exactly what that meant. He turned towards Ardyn to gauge his lover’s reaction. 

“Me?” Ardyn widened his eyes playfully. “Well, I’ve been known to indulge in the pastime every now and then. Here and there. Nothing like the great outdoors and good sportsmanship among friends.” 

“Indeed. And, ah…” Renquist flashed his teeth, bouncing his eyebrows. “Good shot, are you?”

A dark smirk rose to Ardyn’s face. “Well, sir, I am no athlete. Consider me an amateur at best. However…I had quite a collection of trophies in the country home of my youth. Everything from stuffed pheasants to bear skin rugs.”

“Bear skin rugs!” Renquist exclaimed. He was working himself up more than anything. Ardyn was just keeping him in motion with a gentle sway of the hand. (And probably lying through his teeth. There was likely no family country home to speak of.) “My goodness! A team effort, was it?”

“Oh yes, of course. But quite the experience, I can tell you.” Ardyn tossed him another cool grin.

“Ah. I would quite like to hear the story of that someday.” That much was probably the true for Renquist. “So, it seems like you’re fair game. As I thought! Let me extend the invitation to you as well then.” 

Invitation. Noctis tightened his grip on Ardyn’s arm. Now he knew exactly what would come next. His heart hammered wildly in his chest—this was it. This was one of Ardyn’s innumerable social summons! Noctis was finally there to watch the magic happen! And maybe…

Renquist pressed onward. “You know of my house out in Berkshire, don’t you? The one where I proposed to my dear Molly? Anyway, I’ve invited a bunch of chaps out there for the second week in February. The pheasants are numerous this time of year and it’s become a habit of mine to partake in a bit of hunting. I quite enjoy the pastime, I’m afraid. More than I should perhaps.” 

He laughed at himself. It was a friendly kind of bragging. “So, would you like to join us for a little holiday? Would only be about three days or so, a long weekend. Can’t afford to be away from the firm any longer than that. But, we’ll have dinner and breakfast on time I guarantee you that! My staff out there knows exactly how to cook a good bird, no mistake.” 

Ardyn hummed low in his throat. Considering the offer. “Second week of February you said?” 

“Yes sir. The trains to Berkshire run all the time. You could pack light—wouldn’t need to bring your own rifle or anything as we’re well-stocked. Just your, ah, valet perhaps and a suit or two…” He hesitated when he said valet, running his pale eyes over Ardyn’s unkempt appearance. If any gentleman could make do without a valet, Ardyn was a likely candidate. 

“Hmmm…” Ardyn rubbed the stubble on his chin. “What an offer, Renquist. You have my thanks. And a small holiday in the Berks? Any man should be so lucky.” 

“Yes, I quite agree!” Renquist bubbled over with happiness that Ardyn appreciated his invitation. That he coveted the country house. “You know all the blokes that are going too. It’s Threshton and Beasly from the club. Threshton’s bringing the missus. And Beasly wanted to bring his wife and daughter, as they’ve been so terribly bored since the end of the Season. Good man, that Threshton, eh?”

Suddenly, Renquist’s eyes turned back to Noctis. “How about you, my dear? Would you like to come for a walk around the countryside? Bit of good food and better company?” 

Noctis’s eyes grew wide as he realized he was seriously being invited too. Since it was clearly a couples thing. That meant…Renquist saw him and Ardyn as some kind of couple. Sure, he might have been inviting the lady just to be polite. But, with Ardyn and Noctis standing there arm in arm, it was the natural thing to do.

His heart fluttered in his chest. Noctis turned back to Ardyn, legitimately taken aback by the offer. 

Ardyn was grinning at him. That devilish gleam returned to his eyes. “It’s up to you, darling.”

Oh shit! Ardyn was actually considering this. Them—the two of them—going on a trip to Berkshire. In disguise. Meeting people—by name—and continuing their charade all throughout…

Oh. Noctis thrummed with excitement. He’d get to go, on Ardyn’s arm the whole time. He’d have to buy more dresses just to have enough to wear to dinner—and oh. They’d be just another one of the couples on holiday. 

It was dangerous. Fuck yeah it would be. But so, so tempting. How fun would it be to wander the countryside in a woman’s riding clothes. He might even get to do some real riding if they owned horses—he’d also get to see Ardyn handle a rifle. That shouldn’t have turned him on. But it did. It really, really did. 

“I’d be delighted.” The words were out of Noctis’s mouth—breathy and excited—before he could stop them.

Renquist laughed joyously. That was clearly a victory for him. “Smashing! Well then, Izunia? You too, of course?”

Before he answered, Ardyn spared Noctis a furtive glance. The look of a man accepting a bet. He seemed pleased, although his magnanimous exterior would only allow so much of that raw lust he possessed to show on his face. “Yes, I believe so. Looks like you’ll have two more at the country house in February, Renquist.” 

“Then it’s settled!” Renquist clapped Ardyn on the shoulder. Sealing the deal, it seemed. “I’ll send a formal invitation to your house in Kingston Upon Thames, with proper directions and such. But I’ll expect you in Berkshire around the tenth of February! It’ll be a rousing good time, I’m sure.”

He looked again at Noctis. “I must say I admire your adventurous spirit, Miss…ah, Miss…” He frowned. “My apologies, your name seems to have slipped my mind. Though I’m sure we met, Miss….?”

They had met, but Noctis hadn’t given him a name. “Gainsborough,” he finished for him. “Miss Viola Gainsborough. Thank you very much for the invitation, Mr. Renquist. A weekend in the country should do as all good, I think.” 

“Best medicine there is!” Renquist agreed.

“And I look forward to meeting your wife,” Noctis added. “Along with the rest of your acquaintances. I’m sure we’ll have much in common.” 

The man’s eyes lit up with the satisfaction of speaking to a sweet young woman. He seemed almost red in the face now…perhaps a little too satisfied by the picture Viola made with her delighted expression and modest lips. Painted to perfection. (Lavender and lace, lavender and lace. Noctis was getting the hang of this.)

Fortunately, Renquist remembered himself quickly. “Ah, you’re a lamb. Molly will love you.” A polite second passed. “Now, I won’t take up any more of your time. Expect to hear from me within the week, Mr. Izunia! Good day, Miss Gainsborough. Always a pleasure.” 

Ardyn waited until the man was well out of earshot. Then he turned to Noctis and murmured, “Oh, you daring girl. What have you gotten us into, Viola dear?”

—————————

They consulted Aranea first, as soon as they got home (after Ardyn had finished fucking Noctis on all fours, sprawled across the bedroom floor). A trip to the Berks was wonderful in imagination, but accepting an invitation as guests in someone’s country home was its own matter. Noctis would need more outfits, more accoutrements. A great many additions to Viola’s wardrobe.

“Well obviously you need to buy equestrian clothes,” Aranea declared. They were sitting around the living room discussing how they might use the next few weeks to prepare for the trip. “Just for starters. And Mr. Izunia, you’ll need a hunting jacket, sir. Maybe a new coat too. The one you have on is a little…well…”

“Point taken, Miss Highwind.” Ardyn’s face was emotionless, but he seemed to agree.

“I’ll take care of buying all the clothes.” Noctis’s mind raced as he thought of everything he’d need. The stores he’d get to peruse. “For me and you, Ardyn. Let me handle it.”

“If you insist, love.” Not like Ardyn had much of a choice. To buy the kind of things they required he’d need to liquidate a good chunk of his assets.

“What else, Aranea?” Noctis wanted to take his time shopping for a good ladies riding jacket. He’d seen them often enough. He knew the style he liked.

“I guess…you can keep one dress as the dress you’ll wear on the train to and from. You’re only going for three days.” Aranea tapped her cheek as she thought. “But I’d say you need at least one evening dress. They’ll be serving dinner they said and you can’t show up to dinner in a day gown. Or else they’ll think you’re poor as piss.” 

True! Sparkles danced around Noctis’s vision as he imagined shopping for evening wear—he’d never done that before! A real gown now. Nothing too fancy, of course, it was just Berkshire. But something passable at the very least. Silk taffeta and crinoline, beautifully patterened…

“And of course, some standard evening accessories.” Aranea counted off on her fingers. “Satin gloves, a sash maybe. Some nice silk slippers for your feet. And, I’ll need to do your hair proper lady-like. That’ll be the tricky part.” 

“Oh, will you be accompanying us, Miss Highwind?” Ardyn asked aloud.

“Yeah, naturally!” Abashed, nearly offended at the idea that they could pull this off without her, Aranea shot them an incredulous look. “Who else do you think is going to help you fit into those clothes! Not like you can use one of their maids to help with what you’ve got under your frocks. No offense, Miss Gainsborough.”

No, that was a very good point. They’d need to travel with Aranea in order for Noctis to fit into all these outfits. And what was the big deal? Most women travelled with their lady’s maid. Renquist even offered for Ardyn to bring his valet—although, his suspicions were indeed correct; Ardyn had none to speak of.

Which…actually…Noctis rubbed his lips in thought. He’d taken his clothes off and was sitting there in a spare robe of Ardyn’s. With his ladies pantaloons and stockings still on.

“Ah, but I’m afraid…” Ardyn ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Not to speak of money, even though it seems everyone in this house is well aware of my situation—thank you, cheers—but. There’s the matter of your fee to consider…”

“I’ll take care of Aranea’s fee.” Noctis waved his hands. They had more important things to talk about. “Hundred and twenty a month is the going rate for any lady’s maid so, how about sixty? Is that enough Aranea?” 

The beleaguered housekeeper’s jaw dropped. Her hands fell limply at her sides. “S-sixty? But…sir…er, Miss, I…that’s far too generous for just three days…I mean…” 

Noctis nodded resolutely. “Sixty it is. It’s fine. Anyway, Ardyn, Renquist said to bring your valet along.” 

The older man blinked. Unmoved. “So he did. And I have none. So I suppose I’ll have to manage to put my own trousers on somehow. How it is I’ve survived all these years, god only knows.”

“No, but I mean…” Noctis clicked his teeth. “They’ll be serving dinner. I’ll be in an evening gown. So…you know…” He shrugged. Not sure the right way to say this, he just blurted it out. “Maybe you need a valet for this.” 

“Oh, darling,” Ardyn cooed. Offended underneath the surface, condescending up front. “I’ve been to dinner parties without the assistance of a man’s man. On a fair number of evenings. I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” 

Anger throbbed in Noctis’s temple. “Yeah you’ve been to dinner parties and all, but not with me!” 

His tone was snappier than he intended. It’s just…he didn’t love the idea of Ardyn prancing around town with no one on his arm. And ‘no one’ was a comforting thought. The reality was, he’d probably had any number of ladies through the seasons. 

Letting that hang in the air for a moment, Noctis took a breath. “I’m just saying. Maybe when we go to the house—just this once—you could get properly dressed. By someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” 

Ardyn brooded silently on that. Then Aranea added, “Just a few touches would go a long way, sir. And it doesn’t hurt to look like you have money, after all, does it?” 

“Exactly.” Thank goodness Aranea was on Noctis’s side!

Ardyn rubbed his forehead. He looked like a man who had bitten off more than he could chew. But, be that as it may, it was out of his hands now. The die was already cast. 

He threw his arms out to the side. “Very well. If it pleases my lady, then I suppose I’ll have to find a valet.” 

Yes. Finally! The best part about that admission was the fact that Ardyn had called him a lady. Outside of the bedroom. In front of someone else (Aranea, who already knew their game, but still). They were moving their play slowly—bit by bit, nearly word by word—into the commonplace.

Noctis’s fingers twitched in excitement.

Ardyn turned thoughtful. “Though, where I’ll find a man’s man who’s willing to work for pennies and doesn’t mind someone as…habitually under-groomed as myself, I haven’t the foggiest.”

The young lord broke into a relaxed, confident smile. “Don’t worry. I know exactly the right man to bring along.”

Ardyn stiffened. Not exactly a sealed fortress, was Noct. “Your man?” he asked, point blank. “Will he be…agreeable? To our situation?”

“Definitely.” Noctis made eye contact with Aranea. He knew she would understand this bit. “He’s more like my brother, really.”

_______________________________________

_Chiswick_  
_17 January, 1857  
_ _Sunday — morning_

Noctis accosted Ignis the following morning. He’d meant to wait until the afternoon when his head was a little clearer (he’d only just returned from Engheld, after all). But as soon as he saw Ignis stroll into the bedroom with an armful of towels, the bath good and ready for his master…Noctis couldn’t hold back.

“Iggy, you have to help!” 

Ignis stiffened in place. Caught off guard by the request. It took him two seconds to jog to Noctis’s bedside, instead of the usual half second.

“Young master, what is it? What’s the matter?” He lowered his voice. “Do you need me to go to the police station again? Because—”

“No, no.” Noctis wanted to laugh. Ignis thought this was something bad, (naturally; they had quite fulfilled the quota on bad circumstances over the years), but it was actually something wonderful! For once. “I’m going on a trip.”

Warmth spread across Ignis’s face. Chasing away his typically stoic expression. “Are you, Noct? Well that’s wonderful news. It’s been quite a while since the last time we went on a trip, hasn’t it.”

“Yeah! I’m going out to Berkshire. On an invite to someone’s country house.”

“Splendid.” Ignis looked so relieved.

“And I’m…” Noctis rubbed his hands over his night pants. More times than necessary. “…pretty excited, actually. Because, you see, I…well um, the thing is…technically _I’m_ not going. But um…in a way I am, you know?”

He flexed his hands again and again. He’d thought he could just come out and say everything in one quick rush. After all, Ignis knew he was seeing Ardyn. He even knew that Noctis still wore women’s clothes sometimes (though he didn’t know quite how much). On occasion, Ignis helped Noctis out of his corset after a rushed morning when he hadn’t had time to change properly at Engheld. So Ignis knew most of the truth.

Just not…all of it. Noctis hadn’t told Ignis yet that he created a new name for himself. That he walked around town with the expectation of being treated as a woman. Most likely, Ignis thought it was just a sex thing. And it was! Or…it had been…a few months ago…

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Noct,” Ignis admitted carefully. 

Noctis took a deep breath. He explained it the only way he knew how. “They’re not expecting Master Caelum at the country house. They’re expecting Mr. Izunia and his…friend. A young woman.” 

The relief drained out of Ignis’s face as realization took its place. He wasn’t angry—not even surprised in point of fact—but he did appear to be bracing himself. He tilted his head back every so slightly, moving with the motion of his slow comprehension. 

“I see.” Ignis adjusted his glasses. “And…does this young woman have a name?”

“She does.” Noctis felt helpless. On pins and needles. Ignis was reading him like a book. Probably, his lifelong friend and confidante understood the truth behind this admission. The ugliness Noctis felt on the outside most days. The consolation he found in women’s clothes.

Noctis wasn’t sure he was ready for anyone to know that yet. But. Now Ignis did. It made Noctis feel as though his organs were squirming around inside his body.

“Ah.” The valet sat on the bed, sliding closer to his charge. “And what is her name, Noct?” 

“Viola Gainsborough.” 

It came out as a whisper, but Ignis heard him. And, of course, Ignis would know the meaning behind the name as well. He absorbed that, nodding his head. 

“Well. It’s a beautiful name.” Ignis was whispering now too. He put one gloved hand on Noctis’s shoulder. “She must be proud to have it.”

“…Yeah.” 

Before Noctis could get a read on how Ignis felt about all this, he was being wrapped in a firm embrace. Ignis gave phenomenally good hugs—although most people were not aware of this fact—and he held Noctis for a full minute before either of them said anything. 

At the end of that minute, Noctis was a pile of goo in Ignis’s arms. All his anxiety had drained out of him in a steady rush. He felt his friend’s steady heartbeat. Even breathing. He knew it was alright. That whatever this—being Viola—meant to Noctis, it meant the same thing to Ignis. That they were in it together. Start to finish, as always. That Ignis would help in whatever he could. Face the world and all the consequences of this.

As always.

Noctis gripped Ignis’s shirt hard enough to leave wrinkles. He didn’t know what exactly was happening—why did this matter so much? Ignis’s approval? He’d always had it in the past, so why did this feel like a much bigger deal, having it now? 

He didn’t know. But he was so incredibly grateful to have Ignis at his side.

“That’s all fine, master,” Ignis admitted as their hug broke apart naturally. “But…what are we going to tell your father?”

…

Right. Fuck.

———————

“Oxford, you say?” Regis was startled enough to look up from his morning paper.

“Yeah, only for a few days. Four at the most. It’s…it’ll be a short trip.”

_Don’t stumble over your words!_ Noctis chastised himself. Ardyn would have winced if he’d been there to see that lie. 

“Well.” Regis put down the paper and glanced between his son and his son’s valet. “This is…rather surprising news. But not unwelcome, rest assured.” 

A pleased, distantly proud expression broke on Lord Caelum’s face. He wasn’t fully smiling—he rarely ever did that—but he looked…content. That alone was not a look he often gave to Noctis. Not genuinely, anyway.

“But why Oxford, son?” Regis rapped his knuckles against the table. “Why not Cambridge where I have some connections—”

“It’s not for a class, Dad,” Noctis reiterated. “It’s just for a tour of their maths department. I…promised a friend I would check it out for him, so we’re going up there in February to look at the halls. Maybe do some research, if I can help at all.”

“Maths.” Regis nodded seriously. “A very worthy pastime of a young gentleman. Who is this friend of yours?”

“Umm…I don’t think you know him. He was at the New Year’s Party though. At Tummult’s.” 

The mention of the name made Regis’s hands twitch. Even though it had been weeks, his father still carried a grudge about his son’s abhorrent behavior at that event. It made him promptly drop all further questioning.

“Well whoever he is, I imagine he expects some kind of a donation to the university. That is how academia stays afloat, after all.” Regis sighed, but he did not seem upset. Just finished with this line of discussion. “Whatever you decide to give, try to keep it under ten thousand, alright?”

“Ten thousand should be enough,” Noctis reasoned. For a ladies riding coat, an evening dress, accessories, a hunting jacket for Ardyn, a new greatcoat…

“And Ignis will be accompanying you?” Regis asked. Much more at ease knowing that Noctis—his wayward son—was not going out to the country alone. 

“Yes, sir.” Ignis, who had been standing near the door this whole time, took a step forward and bowed crisply. 

Regis smiled at his son’s valet. Always the picture of propriety. “Thank you, Ignis. I can only apologize that we must rely on your services yet again. Please make sure Noctis stays safe. And on task, I should say.” 

The apology was entirely for show. Obviously valeting Noctis around the country was his job description. But it was a way for Regis to tell Ignis that he appreciated all the extra things he did.

“I will, my lord.” Ignis bowed lower, at the waist this time.

Keep him on task? Noctis fought back a snicker. Did that mean Ignis was in charge of making sure Noctis wound up in Ardyn’s bed on time? 

Hell. They did plan on doing quite a bit of…extracurriculars on this trip. Holiday sex and all. Noctis would take the help.

——————

He went shopping with Aranea around Knightsbridge. He found the perfect equestrian outfit for himself to wear during the hunt. A fitted riding jacket and skirt, with an excessive train at the back that would drag nicely across the country leaves, as it should. Noctis might need to pick up the train and drape it over his arm if it got muddy. Which sounded fun as hell. The outer ensemble was all a fashionable cinnamon color and the long-sleeved chemisette underneath (typical for this time of year) was white, with lace around the cuff and the neckline. He found a black ladies top hat with a cute veil to go with it as well. Aranea swore she could do something with his hair if he wore that. His regular walking boots would suffice.

As for the evening gown…Noctis fell in love with one right away. It was a dress probably meant for the springtime, but Noctis didn’t really give a shit. It was gorgeous. And it looked lovely with a pair of white satin evening gloves that went up to his elbows. White silk slippers. Maybe some white lace to tie up his hair. Aranea could slick it back and add an elegant bow in the back to make his hair seem fuller. 

This would work. 

Noctis trembled with excitement. He was going to look so fucking beautiful. He was happy he hadn’t shown the evening dress to Ardyn yet. He wanted to see the look on his lover’s face when he wore a real dress.

As for Ardyn’s new clothes, they needed to take the penny-pinching old man to the tailor’s for a fitting. Ardyn hadn’t been in ‘an uncountable number of years’ he said, so it was a little awkward as the tailor took his measurements on a brown velour jacket and cream colored breeches. 

Noctis decided to surprise Ardyn with the new greatcoat. He bought it when Ardyn’s back was turned—itching with glee to get Ardyn home and show him the replacement for his tattered set of rags. 

Ardyn would look formidable in a new coat. Gentlemanly, of course, but more…serious. Not the jester he sometimes pretended to be. A man worthy of attention.

Noctis couldn’t wait to see it.

Something strange happened on their way back from the tailor’s. They were walking arm in arm, as usual, when they heard a shout from halfway down the block. A man was yelling at the top of his lungs. Almost desperate.

“Delvyn! Delvyn, my god! Is that you?” 

Ardyn stopped dead in his tracks. Well before Noctis even had time to get his bearings. The color drained out of his lover’s face and his eyes suddenly seemed much darker. Wreathed in black, almost. Like some fell spirit had descended upon him.

Sure enough, the stranger ran right up to Ardyn and grabbed his shoulder. “Delvyn, it’s me. Aren’t you—!” 

When the man (a lower middle class man, slightly past his forties, maybe. Well-trimmed but with jaundiced looking skin) saw Ardyn’s face, he immediately dropped his hand. Like he’d been burned. 

“Sorry…” the stranger mumbled, holding his head as if trying to keep it in place. He looked shaken to his core. “M-my mistake. I thought…” He shook his head, swallowing hard against something thick in this throat. “Thought I saw a ghost, I guess.”

Ardyn’s jaw twitched. His eyes turned blacker by the second.

“Hey…” Not at all sure what was happening, Noctis tugged Ardyn’s arm in the opposite direction. “Come along now, darling. It’s nearly supper.” To the man, who wasn’t even looking in the lady’s direction, Noctis said, “Good day, sir.” 

As it was, Noctis needed to practically drag Ardyn into a hansom. When they were alone, he gripped his lover’s face in both hands and tried to force Ardyn to look at him. 

Because his eyes were seeing but not comprehending. There, but not. You could have said possessed—if you believed in that sort of the spiritualist crap, which Noctis didn’t. Ardyn was just…tired, maybe? Subject to a dizzying spell?

Legitimately nervous—what the hell was happening to his lover?—Noctis pressed their foreheads together. 

“Hey. It’s me. Ardyn, it’s Noctis. You’re okay. We’re going home. That was just a mistake. Guy thought you were someone else. We’re fine. Everything’s fine…Ardyn…” 

He heard a deep inhalation of breath. Ardyn sucked in so much air he might have been suddenly gasping after being submerged in water. Or something. But it was slow. Controlled. Coming back to reality at a metered, even pace.

Noctis didn’t let go of his face. He kept them pressed together. 

After several minutes, Ardyn sighed. He brought his fingers up and touched Noctis’s cheek in return. “Yes, my love. I’m here.” 

Now it was Noctis’s turn to breathe. “Jesus Christ, Ardyn. Are you okay?” 

Closing his eyes (his skin was a bit warmer now), Ardyn moved back in his seat. He seemed exhausted all of a sudden. Weary. The wrinkles near his eyes and lips were more pronounced. Perhaps a few more strands of grey appeared amongst his crimson mane. 

“Yes. I’m fine.” 

But it was clear that he was far from it.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Noctis stayed the night but they did not have sex. He lit the fireplace in the bedroom (Ulldor’s instructions be damned) and undressed them both. Ardyn seemed too tired to do it himself. So, Noctis undressed his lover one piece of clothing at a time. Coat, cravat, shirt, pants, shoes, underthings. Until Ardyn was completely naked. He led the older man to the bed—like leading a small child—and bundled him in the thick woolen comforter. 

They laid together. Noctis kept Ardyn wrapped firmly in his arms. He kissed Ardyn’s forehead. Recited some lines of Blake he remembered (out of order and missing a few words, probably, but Ardyn did not comment. For once). Then Noctis just talked idly about how he was so excited to go on the trip to Berkshire with him. That he couldn’t wait to see the countryside. The wildlife and the nature. To eat an old fashioned country meal. To be seen in an evening gown, at Ardyn’s side. To play gentleman and lady for a whole evening. What a treat it would be.

They waited for the worst to pass. 

Ardyn fell asleep first. Then Noctis some time later. He kept his older lover enveloped the whole night, head resting on Noctis’s much smaller chest. Never alone for a moment. 

When morning came, Ardyn was awake and back to his normal self. He was already showered by the time Noctis woke up. Quite a rare occurrence indeed. 

“Good morning, Noct,” Ardyn drawled, crawling back into bed with a rather confused Noctis. He kissed his lover on the forehead, on the cheek, down to his neck. Ran his hands all over Noctis’s chest. 

He tweaked one of the younger man’s nipples teasingly, just the way Noctis liked. Then he brought his mouth down to lick the sensitive nub right after it had been abused. Noctis couldn’t hold back a shiver. He dissolved into his usual needy self—spreading his arms and legs for Ardyn after only a minute or so of having his tits sucked. 

“Mmm…Ardyn, please…”

“Ah, certainly my dear. My sweet, sweet girl. I’ve been quite ready for you all morning.” He brought Noctis’s hand to his cock, let the younger man feel how thick and hard he’d gotten. Imagining this moment. 

They fucked. Twice actually. Both times, Ardyn gave special attention to Noctis’s chest and ass. The two places that made the younger man go absolutely mad from pleasure. Ardyn was very vocal about the fact that he wanted to make Noctis cum just from having his ass eaten out. That morning they came very close. Ardyn tongued Noctis’s tight hole mercilessly, practically chewing on him by the end. 

The very second Ardyn stuck a finger into him to test his readiness, Noctis came all over the place. He was well past the point where he needed a hand on his cock to find release. Ardyn could get him there just from the back. Rather quickly, it seemed. 

“There you go, darling,” Ardyn cooed as Noctis panted and quivered in the aftermath of that unreasonably intense orgasm. “Let’s start again, from the very beginning, and see how long you last, hmm?” 

“No, Ardyn…” Noctis wagged his head from side to side. “Please…I can’t take all that again. Just fuck me. That’s what I want now…” 

“Really?” Ardyn planted a wet kiss right on Noctis’s behind. “Because I could do this all day.” 

To demonstrate, he flicked his tongue over Noctis’s rather open asshole. The younger man screamed and shook like a newborn calf. He was already oversensitive in that spot because of Ardyn’s ceaseless ministrations. 

“J-just!” Noctis dropped his head onto his arms. Offering his ass high the air for his lover to take. “Fuck me already. Please! Do it, Ardyn, come on!” 

Whatever Ardyn had been planning, he could not say no to that. He gave Noctis the pounding he asked for. 

It seemed they were not going to discuss whatever happened to Ardyn the night before. The moment had passed. And after sex that good, who wanted to talk about fainting spells and mistaken identities? 

Maybe it was for the better. But Noctis would never forget that night. 

_____________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_8 February, 1857  
_ _Wednesday - Night_

Noctis brought Ignis over to Ardyn’s the night before they were due to take the train into Berkshire. The train departed early in the morning and the ride would take most of the day, so it made sense that they would spend the night in Kingston. To give themselves a comfortable amount of time to work with the next day.

He was a little nervous to show Ignis what Engheld actually looked like on the inside. The…missing furniture and poorly maintained decor. For someone like Ignis—who expected everything to be spick and span, as he had been trained to expect—Noctis had no idea how he’d react. 

To say nothing of how Ignis would react to meeting Ardyn for the first time. But it had to happen some time.

Ulldor greeted them at the gate. Noctis blushed when the manservant did not return Ignis’s polite, “Good evening.” 

“That’s…he doesn’t say much…” Noctis tried to explain. “But he’s cool. Thanks Ulldor.”

Caligo nodded in agreement. Ignis tipped his bowler hat at the man, unsure what else to do in a situation like that. He’d never come across a mute butler, nor any kind of servant who could not speak to the houseguests. …Ignis tread carefully over the front steps into the house.

“You must be Ignis,” Ardyn greeted with the usual amount of expectant cordiality. “Welcome to Engheld, my humble abode.” 

Ignis sized Ardyn up and down. The light from the gas lamps reflected sharply off his glasses. He took note of every aspect of Ardyn’s appearance, the way only the most capable valet could do. Gauging the work ahead of him, if he was to be valeting this man. And he intended to. Then, Ignis glanced around the walls of Engheld. 

He looked left. Then right. 

After analyzing all that data for a brief moment, Ignis nodded to himself. He relaxed, seeming to have expected no less (maybe even something worse? It was impossible to tell). He set his bag down and assumed his normal posture. Serious. Ready to get to work.

He bowed in Ardyn’s direction. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” 

Ardyn’s eyes widened. He bounced his eyebrows in amused shock. “My good man,” he said, extending his hand in Ignis’s face. Forcing the bowing valet to lift his head. “Please.”

Rearing back in surprise, and slight discomfort, Ignis gingerly accepted Ardyn’s hand. It was unusual for a gentleman to shake a valet’s hand on a first meeting. Especially not the way Ardyn was doing it, gripping Ignis’s hand firmly and fondly. Like an equal.

Ignis let his arm go limp in Ardyn’s grip. Not fighting what was happening, but not condoning it either. He had no planned reaction. Ignis anticipated all possible versions of things as they ought to be—certainly he had not anticipated a man who treated his servants like equals. When Ardyn finally released him, Ignis bent down to pick up his bag. (It was clear now that Ulldor was not going to take his bags to the servants’ quarters, as would have been expected. But impossible since Ardyn’s townhouse did not have such a thing as servant's quarters.) 

“Where should I…?” Ignis glanced around awkwardly. Casting about for a place to set his meager collection of things.

“Over here, Specs.” Aranea stood in the hallway with her arms folded. She gestured with her head (rather un-lady-like, especially in the presence of the masters) towards the rooms further down. “You can bunk in there with Ulldor. I’ll let you guys fight over who gets the bed. Me? I’ll take the settee out here.” 

Ignis wet his lips. The idea of a woman sleeping out in the open…well, Ignis could always just pretend this whole night hadn’t happened. Perhaps he ought to. It wouldn’t be good for any of them if people found out they let women servants sleep in the living room….he cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“…Ignis Scientia, at your service,” he greeted Aranea with a polite nod since they were equivalent in station. “Miss…?”

“Highwind. Aranea Highwind.” She tapped the toe of her pumps against the floor, waiting for Ignis’s reaction.

“Miss…Highwind…” A flicker of recognition rose in his eyes. It seemed he knew the name. Along with entire story that came with it. (Of course he’d remember such a horrible story of a lady’s maid across town. The downstairs folks talked about it nonstop for weeks.)

Aranea nodded and turned around wordlessly. Expecting as much.

“Wait, ah…” Ignis hurried after her. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Highwind. Thank you for…looking after my master as you have been. I apologize for relying on you so, with virtually no way to repay you. But…thank you.”

She paused. Then she turned her head and gave Ignis a small smile. The first tiny inklings of trust in her eyes. At the very least, they would be able to work together. 

Ardyn and Noctis bid them good night. It had been a…notably rocky start. But no less than what was expected. 

“Best get to bed, love,” Ardyn rumbled, wrapping his arms around Noctis’s waist. “We’ll need our rest for tomorrow’s journey.”

The trip hadn’t even started yet. Just a few days holiday, but…damn, Noctis couldn’t wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A little bit on Berkshire](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berkshire) in case anyone was curious. 
> 
> [A riding outfit that was fit for women to wear on a hunt](https://blanchesplace.com/victorian-vintage-day-suits-and-dresses/896-victorian-ladies-riding-suit.html). Except, instead of the white ladies top hat (which is a little gauche, I think), [Noctis has a black top hat and veil](https://img1.etsystatic.com/153/0/5455034/il_340x270.1127557785_fgnp.jpg). And here is [the men’s hunting jacket that Ardyn](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/c5/65/e3/c565e37e749d9eb9ceb88785fb7c3d82--hunting-jackets-velvet.jpg) and everyone else is wearing.
> 
> As for the evening dress? I have one picked out, but you'll have to wait for the next chapter to see it :P
> 
> Yes, the next chapter will have some hunting. I do not condone it! I'm as anti-hunting as it gets, but it was a reality for people in Victorian times. It was winter and they really didn't have a lot to do. Besides fuck each other. With they did a lot too. 
> 
> :) :) Thanks for reading, fam. More crossdressing times coming up! ^__^


	7. The hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things don't go entirely according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned! ^__^ Sorry for the delay, I haven't been feeling up to snuff lately. 
> 
> Because this chapter was getting a little long, I decided to split it up into two parts. So this is *half* the trip. The rest of the it (plus some smut, heh) will be in the next chapter. 
> 
> Notes time!
> 
> [Some logistical and period-relevant information about sidesaddle riding](http://www.angelpig.net/victorian/riding.html). And some notes on [equestrian etiquette in general](https://horse-canada.com/horses-and-history/equestrian-etiquette-and-attire-in-the-victoria-era/). 
> 
> [More on traditional evening wear and propriety](http://www.walternelson.com/dr/evening-wear).
> 
> *Notes on gender pronouns*: So, as everyone knows, this is a story about gender identity and discovery. Noct is still figuring it all out. But this is the chapter where the gender pronouns in the narrative start getting...a little screwy. It's intentional. I hope it doesn't get too confusing, but yeah. Gender fuckery is a theme~~!
> 
> *Highly important* Dyn (aka weirdfans) made more fanart!! This is [Noctis with Aerith's style hair](https://78.media.tumblr.com/30f059ec2eb3a96a723e41540572eee6/tumblr_messaging_p3hnegFfGn1tesbmk_1280.jpg) in honor of his name. So like...I cherish this?!?! A lot?!?! I saved it to my phone and somehow it wound up as my background?!?! I don't guys. This picture is just...yeah. It's got a lot of feels for me.
> 
> Noct's riding outfit was in the last chapter's notes. More outfit stuff at the end.

**Chapter Seven: The hunt**

_On a train heading west_  
_9 February, 1857  
_ _Thursday - Daytime_

It was nothing short of a miracle that everything they needed (cases, bags, chests) fit into the train’s luggage carriage. They were four travelers: Noctis in his blue dress, Ardyn in his usual attire, Ignis in his traveling valet’s wear, and Aranea, who had managed to excavate her old lady’s maid uniform from the depths of her wardrobe (and by god’s own blessing, it still fit her. Another miracle, she asserted). 

To the rest of the train’s passengers, they were as normal as anyone could guess. Nothing out of the ordinary about a gentleman and woman traveling with their servants. 

They would need to take the train from London into Berkshire, all the way to the station in Wokingham. From there, they would disembark and take a four-person carriage into the small village of Swallowfield. The carriage would deliver them right to the front door of Renquist’s country home, a manor called Steyliff Grove. Steyliff was a fair distance away from the rest of the village, naturally, out in the middle of the wilderness. Hidden by forests and stretches of open fields. Renquist assured them the locals would know the place so they would have no trouble finding a carriage as transport.

All in all, they should arrive at Steyliff after nightfall. The whole journey should take about a day.

Cozy in the train cabin he was sharing with Ardyn, Noctis kept his eyes glued to the window. The tall, gridlocked buildings of London gave way to nature. At first sparse trees. Then denser woodlands and even farmland as the train continued west. Things that you just could not find in London, not even at the Citadel. Sheep, for example. The calm quiet of Bracknell Forest where every stretch of trees sheltered yet another cottage. 

If Noctis had any kind of choice in the matter, he would choose to live in Bracknell. No question. Even in winter the grass was green. How was it possible? There was something so alive about the place. Things were…brighter. Not dampened by a thing veneer of industrial smog. Cleaner. Spread out. He could see in all directions and that felt like a new sensation—as if he spent his life in London with a horse’s blinders on. Being trapped on all sides by brick and glass. And other people. People who knew altogether too much about each other.

Noctis took a deep breath. Even the train’s air tasted better (to him). Maybe he and Ardyn could go on a trip—just the two of them—to Bracknell someday. Not for hunting or anything. Just for enjoyment. Comfortable, early nights together. Walks in the daytime. Ardyn could lay Noctis down among the leaves. Ruck up the hem of his skirts, take him. Right there on the cold ground. With only the flora and fauna to bear witness. 

He closed his eyes and imagined that. 

Wrapping his legs around Ardyn’s waist, grabbing fistfuls of earth in either hand. Letting his lover take advantage of him. As slow or as fast as he wanted. Ardyn’s thrusts would knock the bonnet clear off Noctis’s head, freeing his black hair so it could tangle in the leaves around them. Noctis would let Ardyn rip his bodice open if he liked, exposing his corset to the bare wilderness. They would be cold all over except for where their bodies met. Ardyn’s cock, buried to the hilt inside Noctis, warming them. Driving him towards as many orgasms as he could suffer, while the birds chirped heedlessly in the trees—

“You’re fogging up the glass, my dear.” 

Ardyn’s sardonic voice cut through Noctis’s fantasy. “My. You’re positively panting. What is it you see out there, exactly?” He leaned in closer, flush against Noctis, and took a look for himself. 

The young lord sighed. “No it’s…” There was nothing. Just trees. 

But, without a doubt, the wilderness made Noctis horny. Not for any reason in particular. He just loved having his blinders off. The wilderness was freedom. He could do whatever he liked out here. No one would know. It was a harder life—farming and tilling the land and all—but Noctis wasn’t turned off by that. His best memories were of his mother’s family place in Sussex. Watching his maternal grandfather tend horses and sheep. 

He’d only gone once or twice—Regis, as a nobleman, could not afford too much association with his in-laws, lest he look like a radical socialist. When Aulea married, she needed to disassociate with her family and assume the life of a London socialite. Fit in her with her husband’s peers and her new gentlewoman friends. But Noctis remembered his grandparents’ house as well as if he’d been there a thousand times. The smell of the barns. The leather polish smeared across the saddles. His grandfather’s hands dyed black with the stuff. His grandmother kneading dough in the kitchen. Swift and tough. She’d bake Noctis something crusty and brittle, soft on the inside. Grittier than he was used to. But tasty. The kind of bread you could eat without jam or butter. So dense it was practically a meal on its own. 

He remembered Aulea. His mother. Brushing down her skirts after a quick ride through the forest paths near the cottage. She would scoop Noctis—god, he couldn’t have been older than three or four years old—into her arms and plant a kiss on the crown of his head. The Gainsborough family had a tradition about not cutting a child’s hair until they turned five, male or female. Although Noctis was a noble by birth, Aulea insisted they leave his hair natural through his toddler years. Regis—functionally helpless against his wife’s wishes when she persisted—allowed it. So Noctis had hair down to the middle of his back until his fifth birthday. He remembered how Aulea cried when they finally cut it, and how he saw a stranger in the mirror the day he wore short hair for the first time. 

In Sussex, at his grandparents’ home, Noctis ran around like a child of the forest. Long-haired. Genderless. Playing games of his own devising in the nearby woodlands. Running alongside the sheep and herding dogs as if he were one of them. Burying his hands in the thick winter coat of the Thoroughbreds his grandparents kept. 

Shit. As he sat on the train, pressed up against Ardyn, comfortable and calm…Noctis realized he had a lot of memories of his mother’s childhood home. Things he did not call upon on a regular day. Without the constraints of London, of the estate and his daily life, the memories rose to the surface naturally.

He remembered sitting in his mother’s lap as she rode astride on her favorite mare. Aulea only rode sidesaddle when there were other people around. Most of the time—when it was just the two of them, him and Aulea—she rode astride the normal way. Noctis liked being tucked up against her as she rode. The darkening sky their only limit, reminding them when it was time to return home for the day. 

He remembered Regis—almost impossible to imagine now—sitting on the porch of the cottage and reading a book. His father loved to read, didn’t he? Although these days he mostly just read the newspaper. But when Noctis was tired of playing, he would sit in his father’s lap and let Regis tell him a story. Regis would rock him sometimes. And Noctis would fall asleep like that. Wild and dirty, hair matted, happy as a clam, in his father’s arms. 

Regis changed so much after Aulea died. Even as a child Noctis could feel it. Aulea was the happiest part of Regis. She was the piece of him that enjoyed life as it came. They met by chance—when Regis’s father was purchasing some Thoroughbreds to use in the upcoming horse races (all the rage in those days). The Gainsborough’s steeds were the finest in the Empire, people said, so naturally Mors (Noctis’s paternal grandfather) wound up in Sussex to buy his first racing stallions. It was a chance meeting for Noctis’s parents. Farm girl and noble lad. It blossomed into an unlikely friendship, then regular correspondence by letter, and then, when they were old enough, romance.

Regis used to talk about how his father hit the roof when he told Mors of his decision to marry Aulea. The Caelum family was wealthy enough that they did not need an influx of money through marriage. They could thrive no matter who Regis married. But Regis’s father ranted and raved about spoiling the bloodline. Mixing noble blood with commoners—farmers, even. How Aulea would never mingle with the rest of London society and Regis was shaming the family by even trying…

But Aulea proved them all wrong. She was beautiful, and she could be made into a proper lady when she liked. Among the ballrooms and parlor parties, she was a breath of fresh air. Charming and relaxed. Confident in herself. Little by little, society accepted her. Regis’s father had no choice but to relent. They married under the condition that Aulea would sever ties with her old life. Whether because she was enamored with the glamour of London living—the garden parties, gowns, and endless dancing—or because she was quite in love Regis, Aulea agreed.

Even so, Noctis wished they could have spent more time in Sussex when he was growing up. He knew Regis had to keep up appearances and all that, but still. The Gainsborough side of his family was a full half of who Noctis was and he’d only met them twice in his life. After Aulea died, Regis cut off all contact with them (partly because it was the proper thing to do as a nobleman with a son who needed to be raised right, and partly because he did not know how else to handle his grief besides moving forward without any links to Aulea’s memory). She might as well not have existed. Regis never talked about Sussex again. Aulea’s portraits were quietly replaced. Noctis’s memories were his only access to her—and he often worried how reliable his childhood memories were. What was real and what was dreamt up. When Aulea died, it was almost as if he lost both parents, with Regis abruptly transformed into the lordly persona he was always meant to bear. Not the same father Noctis knew in his early years. So, to cope, Noctis spent quite a lot of time in his own imagination as a child. (Surely this did not help his popularity in grade school. Already dismal due to his injury.)

Now, it had been almost twenty years since Noctis last visited the English countryside. He tingled with excitement. As if the blood he inherited from Aulea had finally come alive, back in its natural habitat.

The train’s gentle motion lulled Noctis to sleep. He laid his head on Ardyn’s shoulder and dreamt of sitting on horseback, galloping hooves pounding the earth beneath him, skirts splayed on either side of him.

They woke him up when they reached Wokingham. Noctis sleepily leaned on Ardyn as Ignis packed their bags into a carriage. He stared glossy-eyed at the unfamiliar surroundings. Wokingham was a market town. Even though the buildings were not tall, there were far too many people around for it to feel like the true countryside.

As dusk fell and they began the journey to Swallowfield, excitement returned to Noctis’s bones. He stared out the window with bated breath (they needed to share a carriage with Ignis and Aranea, so this was hardly the private cabin of the train where Noctis had been free to daydream all he liked).

Swallowfield wasn’t as densely wooded as Bracknell, but the open fields….they were so magnificent. Low grass. Perfect farmland. Noctis had a difficult time staying still in his seat. He couldn’t wait to get out of the carriage and take a walk! Explore what the land had to offer. His toes wiggled in his lady’s walking boots.

“Hey, Caelum, want us to let you out and you can run the rest of the way to Steyliff Grove?” Aranea remarked when the shuffling of Noctis’s skirts got rather annoying.

Ignis pressed a hand to her shoulder. “We must remember to refer to him only as Viola from now on,” he reminded her gently. “Especially once we reach our destination.” 

He was quite right. In the country house, it was essential that Noctis assimilate perfectly into his manufactured identity. No one could even catch a glimpse of the real Noctis Caelum, or else their entire ruse would be thrown into scrutiny and they would likely be discovered. Which would put them all in harm’s way, not to mention the wrong side of the law. Female impersonation, crimes against nature, fraud…it was all on the table.

They needed to pull this off seamlessly. 

“Right. …Sorry, miss,” Aranea added, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go over some of the ground rules, then. Ladies don’t shift in their seats like you’re doing now. It’s throwing me off, and it’ll be pretty obvious to the rest of them up at the house, I can tell you.” 

“I know, I know,” Noctis replied. He forced himself to keep still. “Just excited to be out here and everything. You know.” 

The servants stared at him. Ardyn tilted his head to the side with a slight grin.

Okay, okay fine. Noctis huffed and reminded himself that he wasn’t a little kid. He needed to get it together. Become the lady Viola needed to be.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve got this, guys. Don’t worry.” Noctis wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were confident enough to be convincing.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Ardyn declared. He flicked his fingers through the air and rested his chin in one hand. “If anything, I’m worried you might find this outing a little dull. There won’t be much for a woman to do besides make conversation and go for long walks.” 

“Are women permitted to accompany men on the pheasant hunt?” Ignis asked curiously.

Ardyn shrugged (forcing Ignis to fight back a grimace. Such an ungentlemanly thing to do). “It’s house rules. So we’ll see what Mr. Renquist usually allows.”

Noctis didn’t care about the hunt. He’d participated in quit a few pheasant hunts himself over the years. The game was fun but it got boring after a while. Killing something that had no hope of fighting back. Especially when they used foxes to draw the birds out of their nests. Too easy. 

There were only two things in Noctis’s mind: 1) The styles of the dresses he bought and how they would match the other women there—he didn’t want to stand out too much, but he didn’t want to just be part of the scenery either. He wanted to be in that perfect space between ‘total fashion statement’ and ‘drab.’ He hoped the gowns he picked for this trip would get him there. And, 2) Did the Renquists own any horses? Would they let him do any riding?

…There was also a third (quieter, much more particular) interest in his head, too. He hoped that Ardyn found his dresses rather tasteful. That Ardyn appreciated the sight of him in those dresses…that he would be moved to that animal state of lust he reached on special occasions when he found Noctis simply irresistible—it was quite hard not to want that. 

If he could, Noctis wanted to keep Ardyn’s eyes on him the entire trip. Although, he knew that was practically impossible (Ardyn needed to spare one eye on his rifle, after all, during the hunt). But. Noctis had made it his personal goal to monopolize 99% of Ardyn’s attention. He wanted Ardyn to fuck him in the stables again (properly this time). For them to steal kisses in the drawing room, to link arms through the forest paths. To brush hands underneath the dinner table for the barest moment…something twittered excitedly in Noctis’s chest as he imagined all those things. A ‘hidden’ romance, improper by anyone’s standards. Especially when you got down to the truth of who they were…but even as a man and woman it would be inappropriate to be publicly affectionate in that way. 

Delicious.

The best part was that even if someone caught them stealing touches, what did it matter! Viola was free to share a hot, scandalous romance with whomever she pleased! The other guests might be a little embarrassed, that was all. Maybe they’d even find the whole thing to be a laugh. Everyone knew how “passions flared” on trips to the countryside (after all, sex was one of the top recreational activities besides playing cards and smoking. Behind closed doors, that is).

Noctis smirked as the sun went down. He didn’t think he’d be bored on this trip at all.

…Although, Ardyn’s face seemed a shade darker than normal. Far from being in light spirits, Ardyn looked more tired than anything. It reminded Noctis of that one time. Mistaken identity…a night of wordlessness.

But maybe the setting country sun was playing tricks on his eyes. He decided to ignore it. 

——————-

The Requinsts were awake to greet the party of four when they arrived at Steyliff Grove. A groundsman lead them from the roadside to the front door, depositing them in the butler’s hands so they could enter properly. Steylif was extravagant by any means—three stories with full stable around back. The interior was Georgian by design, but decorated to the last inch in new furnishings. If Renquist was trying to make a show of wealth, he was doing it in a way that screamed of overcompensation. Gabriel Renquist was no Lord, no gentry-classed nobleman. But you wouldn’t know that just by looking at this house.

“Mr. Izunia! At last, you’ve arrived!” 

Gabriel and Molly Renquist greeted them in the grand hallway. Molly was still dressed in her evening wear, a fluffy dark green gown and elbow-length satin gloves. A peacock feather quivered worryingly atop her elegantly styled brunette hair. Gabriel wore the typical black even suit with a pristine white waistcoat. On him, the outfit—practically a uniform for men—looked recently starched. Too white. Stiff and new. 

Molly held out both her hands to Ardyn who took them and let her kiss both his cheeks. Shit—how well did these two know each other? Molly Renquist had round eyes and an appealingly plump face. Her rouged cheeks and lips complimented her quite nicely. Although she was probably about ten years older than Noctis, he supposed she was attractive enough…

His temper flared. A sour look rose to his face before he could stop it. He realized that he’d never thought to ask—not once in the weeks of preparation or in the day’s long journey: How well did Ardyn know any of these people?

“Miss Gainsborough, a pleasure to see you again!” 

Meanwhile, Renquist himself sidled up next to Noctis and held out his hand. Startled, a bit taken off guard by the sheer delight in the other man’s eyes, Noctis quietly placed his hand delicately inside Renquists. A touch of fingers. Nothing more for a proper informal greeting.

Steering her attention over to the brand new female counterpart in her house, Molly floated over to them. Her eyes locked with Noctis’s. “So! This is the young woman my husband told me about.” She tutted playfully. “Gabriel, you didn’t tell me she was absolutely gorgeous!”

Some tension drained out of Noctis at the compliment. He said, “Oh, thank you, madam. I’m flattered to hear I’ve been the subject of conversation at all.”

Molly’s eyes widened even further. She tittered with laughter. “Naturally! You’re our guest, Miss Gainsborough. We’re delighted to have you. Call me Molly, please, darling. No need to stand on ceremony out here!”

She said that. Even though she was dressed as if this were a ballroom in Belgravia. But Noctis chose not to mention that.

He smiled. The most feminine, benign smile he was capable of producing. (A move right out of Luna’s playbook.) “Well then. Viola, please. Let us be on equal terms.”

Both Renquists positively simpered at that goodnatured response. Their mouths curled into identical smiles.

As delighted as her husband—they really were alike in that respect—Molly grabbed both of Noctis’s hands in hers. She leaned closer and whispered, “I hope we can become fast friends, Viola, dear.” 

In the battlegrounds of London Society, such a comment might have been a declaration of alliances. A promise of favors. Tit for tat kind of maneuvering through the social scenes. But from Molly, it seemed at least partially genuine. There was something a bit…less complicated to these people. Being upper middle class, and fairly new to Society as a whole.

Noctis decided he liked her. He squeezed her hands in response, as good of a reply as any. 

Ardyn watched the scene while his mouth twitched in amusement. Perhaps a fraction more than his usual. He’d better be able to contain himself through this whole thing. Noctis spared him a glance over Molly’s shoulder.

Not a moment later, they were escorted to their rooms in the east wing of the manor. Two separate but adjacent rooms. No adjoining door, Noctis noted with slight disappointment. This spoke to the fact that the Renquists did not know what the exact relationship between Ardyn and Viola was. Casual flirting? Brief romance? Actual courting? It seemed no one had bothered to make anything clear.

Normally Noctis would have appreciated the respect. People not willing to make assumptions. Respecting boundaries without being nosy. But right now, on this occasion…Noctis scowled. He didn’t know why. This kind of bothered him.

When they opened the doors, Ignis and Aranea were already hard at work arranging their respective masters’ things. Aranea had developed a kind of system to the wardrobe, arranging Viola’s clothes for the next day on a mannequin so they could breathe properly. Ignis had set up the mirror in Ardyn’s room to imitate a boudoir, complete with grooming implements laid out on the table top. Brushes, scissors, razors. Polished to perfection.

“Well!” Renquist clapped languidly at the spectacle. It wasn’t proper for a gentleman to address the staff head on, so he said, “I believe you’ll find yourselves quite at home here. Do let Mr. Kresing know if you need anything.” He said it in a general way, but it was clear he meant to offer up his butler should the servants require assistance. 

Molly stifled a yawn. She latched onto her husband’s arm. “Threshton has already retired for the evening. We should as well, darling.”

Ardyn hummed interestedly. “Is Beasly here yet?” 

“Not yet. Should arrive in the morning.” Renquist patted his wife’s hand merrily. He eyed Ignis curiously—clearly surprised to find that Ardyn had managed to summon a valet at all. Though, he was a bit too polite to say anything.

“Well then. Good night.” Ardyn bowed at the waist and Noctis nodded with a smile. They all bid each other good night, retiring to their separate rooms.

Aranea gave Noctis a sideways smirk when the door was closed and they were alone. “Well, here we are, miss.” She shook her head in mild disbelief. “How’s it feel so far?” 

Noctis threw off his bonnet and held his arms out, an indication that he was ready for Aranea to help him undress. He pondered himself in the mirror. Elated; his first interaction with people and he’d passed.

He’d _passed_. Granted, it was only the first trial. And only for a few minutes. But Noctis was sure he’d completely fooled Mr. and Mrs. Renquist with his Luna-like smile. That old rush of power flowed back into his veins—he hadn’t felt this way since that day in October. The very first time he’d tried any of this. The feeling of hiding a secret so tightly inside your heart. Screaming it in your head and still being able to fly under the radar. Treated as a natural woman in the eyes of the world. 

He grinned at Aranea in the mirror. “Pretty good so far.” 

Aranea couldn’t help smiling back. Noctis’s good moods were sort of rare—kid was far too serious for his own health—but they were utterly infectious when they happened. Light sparkled in the young man’s sky-blue eyes. He rocked his weight on the balls of his feet. Aranea undid the clasps of his petticoat and let herself share the moment with him. For her, it just felt nice to be at work again. Doing what she was meant to do.

Even if that meant setting up this little lie. It was a nice lie, at least. She could live with that.

Just when Noctis was about to climb into bed for the night, they heard a loud clatter from the next room over. As if something metallic had just fallen over. Aranea and Noctis glanced at each other—already quite sure what had happened. Wordlessly, she threw Noctis a robe and they both hurried next door to check on Ardyn and Ignis.

Ignis answered the door. His face was its usual unreadable self…but his black shirt was soaked through and there were already some hairs out of place on his normally perfectly coifed head. 

Noctis peered inside the room. He saw Ardyn—half-dressed, in just his buttoned-down shirt and trousers—sitting in a chair with his head dangling over the back. When he heard the door open, Ardyn sat up to look round. His own hair was soaked, completely mussed, dripping already onto his shoulders in a way that made Noctis shiver. 

This was clearly an attempt to wash Ardyn’s hair that had gone terribly wrong.

Noctis clasped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. He succeeded in making a kind of choked sound. Nothing a dignified young lady should be heard making. 

“Come in,” Ignis said hurriedly, ushering them both inside. He closed the door quickly, shutting out whatever prying eyes are ears might have heard their clamor.

“The hell, Izunia?” Aranea asked when she saw the metal basin—usually reserved for gentleman’s quick ablutions—lying upside down across the room. Water meant for washing soaked through the carpet. “You afraid of a little water?”

Noctis ran to his lover’s side with an unsympathetically large grin. He had never seen Ardyn really _wash_ before—yes, Ardyn might deign to take a bath every so often (at Noctis’s behest sometimes, after a night together raising hell in the bedroom). But he’d never really pay attention to his hair. He might splash some water on it and let that be that, never a true _wash_. Like this, with his hair soaked to his scalp, Ardyn looked sort of like a drowned cat. 

Unashamed, Noctis giggled. 

Ardyn’s mouth was set in a straight, unamused line. He glanced back and forth between Noctis and Ignis (who picked up the basin and headed into the adjoining bathroom, where they heard water running). 

Heaving a weary sigh, Ardyn turned to Noctis and said, “Please tell your valet that if he fancies torture, there are certainly a myriad of professions to cater to his needs. Perhaps the Popery in Rome is drumming up support for a new Inquisition…” 

“Oh come on.” Aranea stomped her foot, shaking her head. “Izunia, really? You can’t handle a bit of soap and water?” She clicked her tongue in disbelief. “Carrying on like a big baby…”

Ignis returned from the bathroom with a refilled basin. “Try the temperature on this one, sir,” he said. Face slack with weariness. But still determined to get this done.

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Ardyn dipped his hand into the water. Carefully. As if it might in fact be some type of weak acid. “It’s…lukewarm,” he declared at last. “Not quite the ice water you tried to use on me last time.” 

Oh. So that was the problem. Noctis nodded to himself. It was true, Ardyn _hated_ cold water. In order for him to get into the bath, the water had to be near boiling. Ardyn wouldn’t tolerate anything else. Noctis thought it might be sexy if they bathed together one time, but that fantasy quickly dissolved when it became clear that they required two completely different water temperatures. Noctis felt like his skin might melt off if he stayed in the water with Ardyn too long.

“So…may I?” Ignis asked, dragging a stool back into place behind Ardyn’s chair.He placed set the basin down and rolled up his sleeves a little further. Ready to get to work. 

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Ardyn leaned back in the chair. Offering his head to Ignis once more. “I don’t see why this is necessary…”

Ignis gently gathered Ardyn’s sopping hair and placed it in the basin. He combed his fingers through Ardyn’s dark crimson locks. This was going to be a real deal hair-washing. Shampoo and everything. Right down to the scalp. 

Noctis knew that Ignis was a top-notch hair-washer. There were a few times in the past when he’d done the same for Noctis…usually after a particularly rough bender when Noctis needed to be at an event in short order. But Noctis had no complaints. Ignis was gentle but thorough and he gave great scalp massages. 

“Just enjoy it, Ardyn,” Noctis said, patting his lover on the shoulder. “It’ll feel good if you stop fighting it.” 

“…Not likely,” Ardyn replied. He squeezed his eyes closed as Ignis began to work some lather into his scalp.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable, kindly say something to alert my attention,” Ignis instructed, moving slowly. Cautiously. “Instead of throwing my water basin across the room.”

“I’ll…take that under advisement,” Ardyn bit back. When Ignis began scrubbing, he grimaced as if he were being flayed. 

“Quit your whining, Izunia,” Aranea grumbled. She was already heading for the door. “You’re lucky Specs even wants to go near that hair of yours. I’d rather keep a comfortable distance, thank you very much.” 

Hazel eyes flashed behind a pair of glasses. “I’ll not have my reputation sullied…” Ignis scrubbed a bit harder, masking his mumbling. 

Noctis honestly wanted to pull up a chair and watch the show, but he knew from instinct (and experience) that this was going to be a painful affair. Ignis wanted to shave Ardyn's scruff too. Maybe give his hair a bit of a trim. Never going to happen. 

So, nope.

“Good luck, guys!” Noctis bade them good night again and walked out with Aranea. 

He’d see the finished product in the morning regardless.

___________________________________________________________

_Steyliff Grove  
_ _10 February, 1857  
_ _Friday - Morning_

Eager for the day to start, Noctis went down to breakfast already in his riding clothes. He was so damn excited to wear this dress; because of the triangular sort of shape in the skirts, you did not need caged crinoline underneath. So for once, Noctis was wearing regular layers of cotton underneath his skirts. He could hear the fabric crinkling every time he took a step. On top of that, the fitted cut of the bodice (modeled after a man’s riding coat, in the current fashion) complimented Noctis’s slim body quit well. He probably didn’t even need to wear a corset, but he did anyway because he needed some way to hold up his artificial tits. 

Aranea was able to gather all of Noctis’s hair into a rather tight loop towards the top of his head. He went down to breakfast with his head uncovered, lacy top hat in hand. Beaming—glowing from the inside out—as if he were adorned in a princess’s gown instead of earth-toned riding clothes. 

Molly nodded at him in appreciation. She was wearing a similar outfit in burgundy. The material was slightly thicker and her skirts were not as long as Noctis’s. She looked her guest up and down and broke into a smile. “Quite a flattering outfit, my dear,” she said, without a hint of sarcasm.

“Thank you!” Noctis sat gracefully down at the breakfast table. “You as well, Molly.” He offered her a polite smile in return. Eyes sparkling. 

Fuck, he knew he looked good. Aranea had used some kind of make-up technique, contouring his cheeks with dark rouge along the back of his cheeks. Making his face appear more feminine in shape. Even though he was not covered by a bonnet or anything, Noctis felt as confident as if he were born to wear this get-up.

Maybe he was.

The two ladies (‘ladies?’) shared a knowing smirk. They mirrored each other for a moment—Molly clearly had been waiting to wear her own equestrian clothes for probably a whole season. It was an excitement they could both relate to. As Noctis admired Molly’s get-up, he had to admit that he liked what her lady’s maid did with her waistline. Instead of a bodice with buttons down the middle, which might make a portly woman like Molly look pinched, she wore a coat that buttoned along the side. Giving her a svelte appearance overall. Her hair was done loosely, not so severe, to mellow out the aging lines of her face. 

Smart style. Noctis appreciated that. He might like to wear his own hair in a loose mess of curls like that one day…if he could ever grow it out long enough. And curl it. Realistically, Noctis had never tried to curl his hair. He didn’t know if it would even take…

Ardyn came down in the middle of breakfast, Renquist following closely behind him. Noctis literally did a double take when he saw his lover; his usually unkempt dark red hair looked actually…fluffy. The color was several shades lighter. The color of ripe strawberries instead of a fine wine. Noctis might have dropped his jaw and burst out laughing—except Ardyn looked rather uncomfortable. He kept trying to brush his hair—out of control now that it had such volume—out of his eyes. To no avail. Those wayward strands just fell right back where they liked. 

Poor guy. Noctis cast his lover a pitying look, but he wasn’t sure that Ardyn was looking in his direction. 

Hmm. Weird.

“Good morning, Mr. Izunia,” Molly intoned brightly. “Slept well, I hope?” 

“Hmm. Yes, quite, thank you.” Ardyn sat at the table, taking only coffee. He fixed an amicable stare on his face, but his smile did not reach his eyes.

It was enough to fool the rest of the company, but Noctis knew better. Ardyn was in bad spirits. 

That was…concerning. Slightly, anyway. Or…perhaps more so. He had given Noctis a once-over when he came down, but now Ardyn was looking steadfastly at his coffee mug.

Why wasn’t he looking at Noctis?

“Is Mr. Threshton awake yet?” Molly asked her husband. 

Renquist gave her a meaningful look and sipped his coffee. “Not yet, I’m afraid.” 

The atmosphere tensed. A hint of discomfort. Noctis, who had never met Threshton (not enough to even know his first name), could not begin to guess what the situation was. He decided it was better not to ask. 

After all, Noctis was still the outsider here. Ardyn knew these people from his ‘club.’ If he wanted to get along with them—and to appear the lovely young lady he was meant to be—he needed to put on the most polite form of interest acceptable. Not nosy, not too vocal. Demure enough to slip under people’s attention (too much attention might land them in trouble). He needed to be more of a flower on the wall than a social butterfly. 

Which was fine with him. ‘Social butterfly’ had never adequately described Noctis, even on the best of days. 

Beasly arrived right when they began clearing their plates. They heard his carriage pull up and promptly rushed outside to meet him (the customary thing to do in the daytime).

“Hell of a trip, that!” 

A man of about fifty years of age, brown hair gone mostly to grey, stepped out of the carriage. He’d brought his own valet and two lady’s maids. One such lady’s maid stepped out first and held the door open for her mistress, an older woman in her late fifties. She was also mostly grey-haired, but her eyes were quite sharp. She must be Mrs. Beasly.

“Patrick, you old devil,” Renquist said, coming up to give Beasly a proper handshake and a firm pat on the shoulder. Clearly they were good friends. “Still in one piece, eh?”

“Barely,” the man replied. He gestured to the myriad bags and cases Steyliff’s footmen were currently unloading. “Sorry for the big to-do. My girls have forgotten what it is to travel light these days."

“Come now, Patrick,” Mrs. Beasly said with a laugh. “Half those suitcases are yours and you know it.” She turned to the rest of the company. “What is it they say about men and their boots? He likely brought five separate pairs—”

“Alright, alright…” Beasly interrupted her quickly, shuffling his wife into Molly’s waiting hands for a proper greeting. 

While they shared pleasantries, another young woman in a pinkish day gown emerged from the carriage. She had reddish hair and fair skin, blue eyes that were wide and innocent looking. She must have been around Noctis’s age. Perhaps a few years older. 

She fit quite well in her dress. It must have been tailor made to her. And her hair was done in ringlets all down her back. She sported a natural brownish auburn color that shone prettily in the morning sun. A footman helped her down onto the ground and she cast a big smile to the group waiting. 

Everyone had their eyes on her. She commanded that kind of attention. A young girl who'd had all of her teenage and young adult years to cultivate the kind of poise people admired in a lady. 

Noctis’s breath caught in his throat.

“Well!” The young lady met everyone’s eyes with a polite sigh. “The country air really is refreshing, isn’t it?”

Everyone nodded in agreement, men and women alike. They touched her elbows adoringly, one at a time, as the Beasly daughter made her way through the small crowd. 

“Evie, darling, you must come inside!” Molly grabbed the young woman (Evelyn, ostensibly) by the hand and pulled her to the front door. “The journey from London is so tiring, isn’t it?” 

Noctis had made the exact same journey the day before but he had not received this kind of treatment. Maybe it was because this girl was well-known amongst the crowd. He was still a new face. …Or maybe people just naturally wanted to fawn on this doe-eyed girl. Even her lady’s maid (a middle-aged woman with blonde hair) seemed drawn into her light. She walked around with a huge smile on her face, introducing herself happy to the servants near the back entrance. 

There was just something special about Evelyn Beasly, it seemed. She drew all the light towards her. Like a diamond refracting the sun’s light into a rainbow. Taking the ordinary drab country and making it beautiful. 

Noctis swallowed around an arid mouth. He hadn’t said hello to the girl yet, and he thought perhaps he wouldn’t. …Except for the fact that this wasn’t one of his father’s grand parties. There were only eight people here. Everyone had to meet sometime. 

As it happened, Ardyn was waiting just inside the door. He looked smashing in his new velour coat (which he had just donned) and cream-colored breeches. Noctis saw him and was immediately glad they had taken the time to get the coat properly fitted for him. The material clung to all the right places on Ardyn’s body that flattered him; his thin waist and broad shoulders. Knowing how it felt to wrap his arms around that lithe body, Noctis wanted to do just that—he licked his lips unconsciously. Maybe it was time to announce to everyone that he and Ardyn were properly courting. Stake his claim, before anyone got any other ideas about him.

But Ardyn had his attention fixed squarely in one direction. Not even pretending to look anywhere else. And that direction was not Noctis’s.

Evelyn automatically shrank a bit when she saw Ardyn staring at her. After all, who wouldn’t? A gaze like that. It was the exact same one Ardyn had given to Noctis that day in Ravenscourt Park—a concentrated version of The Eyes. Poorly concealed hunger. 

“Oh, have you met Mr. Izunia?” Molly asked, bringing the young girl over to him. Like a shepherd leading a sheep into a wolf’s den. 

“Ahm, no, I don’t believe so,” Evelyn stammered out. She extended a hand daintily in Ardyn’s direction. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, sir, but I’m sure I would’ve remembered.” 

Breaking into a slick grin, Ardyn carefully took her hand. “Likewise, miss. I do believe this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.” 

While Noctis looked on, Ardyn brought the young woman’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Charmed,” he purred.

Tears sprang to Noctis’s eyes before he even knew what was happening. His throat tightened and he needed to use a staggering amount of self-control not to scream right then and there. Jealousy just did not fully cover the feeling crawling down his throat and through his bones. More accurately, it was a kind of hatred. 

For Evelyn, yes. The girl was bewitching his lover with her soft features and natural grace (the same grace Noctis had needed to work very hard to get even passably good at). 

And…for Ardyn. He was flirting with—not even flirting, fucking straight up _courting_ —that girl right in front of him! Not even trying to spare Noctis’s feelings by doing it when he wasn’t around. And in front everyone else too! Making a declaration that he was interested in front of the his friends and her family! Noctis whirled around to face the Beaslys and found—to his horror—that they were smiling. With barely concealed pride, even!

The toast and coffee in Noctis’s stomach started to climb its way back up his gullet. The young lord honestly thought for a moment that he was going to be sick. There was some kind of plan at work here—there was a plan—something Noctis had not known about—

“And have you met Miss Gainsborough?” 

Moving them past such an overt display, Molly brought Evelyn over to Noctis to introduce them. Evelyn gazed at him as if seeing him for the first time (which perhaps she was; it wasn’t as though she had paid any particular attention to him since she arrived). 

Noctis hoped he wasn’t too green. Even though he was literally sick with envy and rage. If he were at home, he might have turned his back on the woman and let the chips fall where they would. Hatred was something Noctis had a horrible time disguising. 

Be that as it may, they were not in London. Noctis was not the young master Caelum at the moment. He needed to play polite—no matter how much it hurt. Which was honestly quite a lot. 

“…A pleasure,” he managed to choke out. Trying to make the utter loathing in his eyes melt into some kind of civility. 

He failed. Evelyn saw exactly what was in his eyes. She gave him a discerning look and flashed a barely civil smile right back at him. “Indeed.” 

“So, I heard something about a hunt!” Beasly proclaimed loudly. They filed into the house and Molly ordered some servants around to put on another pot of coffee for the Beaslys. 

“Yes, yes! And it’s the perfect weather for it!” Renquist led them all into the sitting room. Another garishly decorated affair. “Shall we set out around noon?” 

“Lovely, that’ll give us just enough time to change properly,” Mrs. Beasly replied. 

It seemed women were indeed allowed on the hunt. At least to accompany the men (not to do any real shooting, of course).

Noctis waited for Ardyn near the doorway before finding a seat. He grabbed his lover by the wrist and made desperate eyes at him. In a corner where the others couldn’t see. 

_What the hell was that?_ Noctis’s face demanded.

To his chagrin, Ardyn just smiled blithely back at him. It was perhaps the cruelest reply he could have given. Then, while Noctis’s lower lip trembled, Ardyn glanced pointedly behind them. Implying that Noctis should take a look for himself. 

At a loss, Noctis turned around to see another gentleman descending the stairs. He quickly dropped Ardyn’s wrist and straightened his back. (So much for declaring any kind of relationship with the man; Ardyn had successfully thwarted any hope of that through his garish display with Evelyn. Now Noctis could not make any claims without looking like a fool and thoroughly shaming himself, shaming Viola. Who would certainly be blind not to know Ardyn’s intentions with another woman at this point.) 

The man on the stairs was fair-haired and wore a pair of sharp spectacles. He had a thin body and well-chiseled face. Most people would consider him attractive. Unfortunately, there was some kind of shadow hanging around the man’s shoulders. He seemed slumped. A bit disheveled, despite having just risen for the day. There were dark circles under his eyes, making his face unnaturally puffy in places. 

“Ah, here’s the party,” he announced, seeing Noctis in the doorway of the sitting room. Ardyn had gone to find his own seat, leaving his lover where he was standing. 

Working the room, it seemed.

Noctis nodded and smiled at the new man, despite the pain in his throat. He tried to remember where he was. He couldn’t cry here—he couldn’t! He was in front of everyone, wearing his beautiful riding clothes…he needed to go inside and make proper conversation…

His hatred and envy from earlier morphed slowly into deep sadness. A sense of futility, of being made into a fool.

Suddenly he felt as if he’d lost everything. All sense of purpose. What the hell was he even doing here? Standing around in a dress in a strange country house. Playing pretend. Trying to impress another man. A man who clearly had higher hopes than Noctis. Machinations thereof. Things that did not involved Noctis at all.

This was a mistake. Noctis clutched a hand to his throat and tried to hide his face.

“Oh, my dear…” The man from the stairs walked right up to him. He lowered his voice. “Are you quite alright?” 

Obviously, this stranger had caught the despair on Noctis’s face. He was doing the gentlemanly thing and asking after a forlorn lady. Embarrassment at being caught overrode the rest of Noctis’s feelings, and he sniffed and forced himself to smile again. 

Smiling was so painful when he felt like this.

“I’m…fine, yes. My apologies…” Noctis patted his hair and straightened his bodice. Fixing himself surreptitiously. Forcing himself back into the role he’d chosen. 

He glanced at the stranger. “I’m…my name is Viola Gainsborough. I’m sorry for meeting you like this. In such an…awkward circumstance.” 

“Not at all.” The bespectacled man's face showed great concern. “It can hardly be helped, if you’re feeling such a way.” 

They were kind words. Noctis swallowed the rest of his pain and looked curiously back at the gentleman. He held out his hand, offering it to him as a lady might. Without hesitating, the blonde stranger took it. 

“Daniel Threshton,” the man said softly, brushing Noctis’s knuckles with his thumbs. “Please, if there’s anything I can do to help…” 

“No no.” Noctis waved away the matter with one hand. Trying to soldier on. “Let’s just…” 

He wanted to say forget it, but. It would have been rude to make such a difficult request (how could Threshton agree to forget such a bizarre thing—a young woman standing in the hallway with tears in her eyes on their very first meeting). So he sort of just trailed off.

Miraculously, Threshton nodded at him. “Understood.” Then he raised his voice and took a step back, giving the woman he’d just met a chance at normalcy again. “Ready to go inside? I’ll fetch you a cup of tea. Always helps a bit, doesn’t it?”

For some reason, Threshton was being unusually kind about all this. Agreeing to let the moment pass. Offering tea, and perhaps friendship. Noctis truly appreciated it. He was not used to being…saved, like that. Scooped up and treated with respect. Men usually did not do that for other men, after all. Noctis had been an utter hot mess countless times. Usually people averted their eyes and pretended they didn’t see him. Apparently, not as Viola. Viola got the kind of treatment a young lady deserved. Being acknowledged was exactly what Noctis needed in that moment and he hoped Threshton knew it.

So, Noctis trailed behind the blond stranger into the sitting room. He staunchly decided that he just wouldn’t look at Ardyn until he had to. He couldn’t. Not when Ardyn was sitting there a with a comfortable, unaffected look on his face. The same strange aura clinging to him. 

A secret. Noctis dug his fingernails into his palms and realized—not for the first time, but certainly this was the strongest realization he’d yet experienced—that Ardyn had many secrets. And this was the first time Noctis was stuck on the other side of one. Locked out.

“Good morning Mr. Threshton.” 

“There he is, Threshton my lad.”

“Ah, Daniel. Good of you to join us.” 

The group resounded with greetings for the blond man, while Noctis floated over to a chair and tried to keep his hands steady. Stop the shaking.

“But…” Evelyn piped up. “I thought Francine—er, Mrs. Threshton—was supposed to be joining us as well?”

An uneasy silence settled over the crowd. Threshton poured a cup of tea for Noctis and handed it to him wordlessly. Then he poured one for himself and downed the whole thing in one gulp.

“Afraid not.” He flashed Evelyn a tight smile. Molly quickly changed the subject.

Ah. Marriage troubles. It would explain the sullen air about Threshton. The awkwardness. The meaningful glances at the breakfast table. No one wanted to talk about things like divorce or unsteady partnerships. These were not polite topics of conversation. But clearly there was an elephant in the room. Noctis had a feeling they’d probably end up discussing it over dinner or after dessert. Something like that. 

He felt bad for Threshton. It could not be easy facing your friends when everyone knew what you were going through but could not offer any help. Must be hard to keep a stiff upper lip in that situation—a marriage gone south, perhaps infidelity or estrangement. At least Noctis could say that and Ardyn were never married, just…

….Just what? 

While the Beaslys changed into their outdoor wear, Threshton sidled up to Noctis and asked, “You said your name was Gainsborough, right, Miss?”

“I did, sir,” Noctis replied, as Viola. He had barely touched the tea. But it gave his hands something to hold. A thing to focus his eyes on. He was still grateful for the cup.

“It took me a few moments, but I believe your name is known to me.” Threshton’s eyes softened when they looked at Noctis. He spoke quietly, not keen on dragging everyone else into the conversation. “Do you hail from the Sussex Gainsboroughs?”

Pleasant surprise struck Noctis. “The very same, sir. How did you know?”

Threshton smiled. He still seemed weary, laden with whatever burdens he was carrying from his home life, but his smile was genuine. He nodded at Noctis in recognition. 

“Well, my family has done business with the Gainsboroughs for years. We’ve become decently close. I’d recognize that Gainsbrow anywhere.” 

The ‘Gainsbrow.’ A colloquial term for the particularly soft sweep of the forehead that many Gainsborough descendants sported. Besides coal black hair, the brow was the most prominent feature of the family. How funny that Threshton, of all people, would actually know about that! 

Noctis chuckled. “Guilty, of course. Quite so, I’m afraid.” He’d been told he’d had the Gainsbrow since birth. It felt good every time he heard it. 

To be seen as a tried and true Gainsborough by a total stranger…Noctis perked up just a little bit.

Threshton returned the chuckle. “No, it’s a rather nice trait, I believe. Suits you.” 

He coughed self-consciously when he said those words. They were clearly out of place. A rather obvious, unnecessary compliment. Noctis saw it for just what it was: Flattery. A come on, basically.

This guy…Threshton…found him, what, attractive? He glanced nervously back at Ardyn who was indeed looking in their direction. For the time being, Ardyn had let his smile drop. He was staring at Noctis and Threshton with a look of dark curiosity. His arms were spread wide across the back of the settee he was lounging in. Watching the scene like a jungle cat lurking behind tall grass.

Noctis couldn’t read the look in Ardyn’s eyes. He wished he could say it was jealousy, but. It wasn’t really. More of a…twisted kind of satisfaction. 

Had Ardyn known Threshton would be interested in him—in her, Viola, that is? Had he moved out of the way to give Noctis and Threshton their chance encounter? 

…Why? Noctis wished he could read the other man’s mind. He wished Ardyn would have mentioned all this beforehand so he could maybe try to understand. 

But this was some kind of game. Noctis knew that. He could recognize games—after all, he’d been a gambler and a mediocre socialite since the day he turned thirteen (or thereabouts). So, if it was a game, then that meant two could play.

Noctis turned back to the bedazzled man at his side. “Thank you, Mr. Threshton. I’m impressed you know so much about my family. We’re simple horse folk, you must understand.”

Threshton gobbled it up. The demure, lamb-like attitude of a woman downplaying her own strengths…honey-sickle for a man like him, apparently. “Oh, Miss, no! There is much to be said for people who raise animals. A kind of, erm…” He colored lightly. “Dyed in the wool sense of care. Animal lovers are good caretakers, anyone would agree to that.” 

Feeling Ardyn’s golden eyes burning a hole in his side, Noctis gave the other man a smile that Lunafreya would have been proud of. A Mona Lisa smile. Shy but knowing. 

“Well, thank you for saying so. I hope you’re right.” 

Threshton reached for his cuppa and almost missed. His eyes were fixated on Viola’s lips. Glancing nervously between her eyes and mouth. Trying to figure out the meaning behind her smile. 

Noctis patted his lips with crooked finger and cleared his throat. He glanced back at Ardyn and thought for a moment he saw genuine fire in those eyes—

“Alright! Ready for a stroll, chaps?” 

With the Beaslys returned—donned to the gills in standard hunting attire—they were ready to head out. Evelyn wasted no time. She flounced her way over to Ardyn, pretending she was going to stand next to Molly. But her sideways glance in Ardyn’s direction was more than enough proof of who her true audience was meant to be. She chattered on about how thrilling it would be to take a romp through nature. 

Damn it, that was Noctis’s line! He’d been looking forward to this for weeks—

Fuck it. Let her prattle on like a little child. As they trekked out into the fields behind Steyliff Grove, Noctis fixed the black lace top hat onto his head and held his hands out to the Threshton. Wearing a slightly more cheerful version of that same smile.

“Would you care to escort me, Mr. Threshton?”

The man looked like he’d been assaulted by a harsh gust of wind. As if the glasses might slip from his nose. A fraction of weariness drained out of him and a flicker of life returned to his eyes. 

“It’d be an honor. Please, call me Daniel.” 

———————

The Renquists had a small brood of Pointers they used as hunting dogs. Noctis found them adorable. The dogs were obviously excited, they bounded up to the group and Noctis completely broke character for the chance to pet them. He ruffled them behind the ears and cooed what good dogs they were. (Hard to pass up such a golden opportunity…)

“Kind of a…rugged girl, aren’t you?” Beasly commented with a confused chuckle. It was not a lady-like thing to do, being so rough with a dog. Unbothered when the dog jumped on her shoulders as she knelt to pet him.

“I love dogs,” Viola explained. “Always have. Since I was little. My family owned a number of Setters when I was growing up.” Not a lie. Regis bred Setters for a bit. Until he lost interest in hunting, far too occupied with the House of Lords. (Noctis remembered being in a wheelchair and clinging to the neck of a Ground Setter he called Captain Long John— _not_ Silver, another one, a different Long John—while the dogs were herded away.) 

Molly forced a good-natured laugh. Determined, as the hostess, to make Viola feel comfortable. “Well, what fond memories you must have. Our gamekeeper is the one responsible for most of these animals, but…I’m sure they have…names and personalities like all the rest!” 

Noctis tried not to roll his eyes. Duh. These dogs were probably sweethearts. So eager to please. Wasted on a family like the Renquists who had purchased them probably just as a show of comfortable standing. 

The gamekeeper whistled low and the dogs rushed to his side. Renquist took the men into a backroom and showed them the selection of rifles. Beasly made a show of checking the range on each of them, aiming at the sky as a test. It was nonsense. The real thing to test would be the action on the trigger and the reloading speed…but Noctis kept that to himself. 

He wouldn’t be giving shooting tips on this hunt. Not if he could help it, anyway (he’d already been labeled ‘rugged’ just for petting a dog. Giving hunting advice would make him seem like he’d been raised by savages.) Although the whole lot of them looked like such amateurs! Seriously, Threshton picked up a musket without a second glance before Renquist took pity and explained such a gun was meant for clay pigeons. Or children. Clearly, Threshton didn’t hunt. 

Well, they weren’t playing for any real sport or anything, so Noctis guessed it was fine. Just amusement and probably friendly competition. Even Ardyn’s behavior was kind of a let down. He picked any rifle at random and stared out into the wide open field. Like he couldn’t care less about what kind of gun he used. How boring. Maybe Ardyn wasn’t much of a shot either. Better suited to parlor talk than action…although his lean, deceptively strong body would have implied otherwise. 

Whatever. Noctis breathed in the sweet country air and tried to enjoy the walk. Swallowfield was beautiful after all. The grounds at Steyliff were well-kept. They trekked into the forest and Noctis’s heart beat faster. 

He remembered playing in a forest like this. His small hands on the tree trunks. This forest was not as dense, but. The crack of twigs underneath his feet made Noctis happy and relaxed. The ripe scent of leaves and a crisp breeze, dogs panting towards the front. Noctis liked it.

He sidled up next to Molly—the four women needed to stand back while the four men took aim at a few birds—and accepted her hand. They stood arm in arm like bosom friends.

“I’m afraid my poor Gabriel is a horrible shot,” Molly whispered to Viola. “Though he does try. Let’s cheer for him, even if he misses, shall we? It’ll make him…feel better.” 

They giggled together conspiratorially. 

Beasly was up. He cracked his rifle and soundly missed. The girls in his family held their applause.

“Oi, it was close!” The father turned towards the women and held out his arms helplessly.

“Not by much, darling,” his wife called back. Not shying away from the deprecation. It was clear they had been married quite a while, and from the smile on both their faces, they were quite comfortable. 

In the end, Beasly did better than Renquist and Threshton. Threshton missed by a damn mile—prompting the rest of the men to ask whether his glasses were on straight or what. Renquist cursed rudely when he missed, making Molly blush. But as promised, they cheered for him anyway. 

They trekked a bit farther into the woods and it was Ardyn’s turn. As soon as the pheasant took flight, Ardyn took a shot. Everyone had been expecting him to aim for a bit, but it seemed Ardyn did not need to. He felled the bird in one quick shot, even took down some of the pigeons that rose up when they heard the cracks. Seemingly out of habit more than anything else. All in all, Ardyn fired three shots and felled three birds. Soundly the winner out of all four men. 

“Blimey…” Beasly muttered as the dogs happily brought back Ardyn’s kill.

“Good god, Izunia!” Renquist seemed utterly delighted. As always. He patted Ardyn on the shoulder. “You said you had some experience, but I say! Were you born with a rifle in one hand or something?” 

Ardyn’s shrugged noncommittally. His face was still mellow, but his gait was slightly tight. Not as loose as his usual saunter. “No, thank goodness for my mother, rest her soul. I’ve always had a sort of luck with these things. That’s all it is, I’m afraid.” 

“The devil’s own luck!” Beasly cried.

Because obviously luck had nothing to do with it. Ardyn was clearly a well-practiced shot. You could tell that just from the way he handled the rifle and the recoil. Keeping his arms steady, loose enough to absorb the motion. Shooting came naturally to him now…he’d probably fired many a rifle in his day.

Noctis blinked. Unsure how to process that.

When the men returned to the women, Evelyn rushed up to Ardyn. She gushed about how she’d never seen anyone shoot like that (true enough, none of them had, not even Noctis). Ardyn tipped his hat at her and swept into a polite bow as thanks. Giggling at the show, Evelyn held out her hands and Ardyn gave her his elbow without asking. As they began the walk back, Ardyn escorted Evelyn all the way. 

Noctis stayed latched onto Molly. Pretending he hadn’t just been slapped in the face. Metaphorically speaking. He tried to forget that girl’s delicate fingers wrapped around the arm of the man who made Noctis feel so very many things…

“Where did you learn to shoot like that, Mr. Izunia?” Evelyn asked in fascination.

“My family owned a country home rather similar to this. We all tried our hands at shooting. The traditional British way for a lad to grow, don’t you think?” 

Yes, Noctis had heard Ardyn give the same story to Renquist. But it was a lie. Noctis knew that now beyond a shadow of a doubt. There was no country home, no trophy room full of kills. More accurately, Ardyn had no family. His name wasn’t even real (Ignis checked the registries for his master; there were no Izunias on record in the history of London in the past three hundred years). So his whole persona—the entire man he claimed to be—was a lie.

Noctis knew that. He had known that. But seeing Ardyn give the same lies to other people, weave the same tales, spin gold out of straw…it made Noctis feel sort of queasy. 

How much of Ardyn was a lie? More to the point, how much of Ardyn was real?

Their relationship—whatever it had been—certainly was not real. Noctis could see that now. In the way Ardyn prattled away with Evelyn. Just like he’d done with Noctis in Ravenscourt Park. Polite, just a touch forward. Enough to entice a young foolish girl. Those remarks, that casual demeanor he wore to make people believe he was charming, were lies. Noctis had seen behind the curtain—he’d seen Ardyn climaxing into him with a curse on his lips, spending enough for two men. He’d seen Ardyn asleep in his arms. He’d seen him naked, wordless. Lost. Noctis had seen all that. Enough to know that the man he was pretending to be now was just an act. A costume. Just like Noctis’s. 

He may not know who Ardyn really was, where in hell he came from, but. Noctis still knew Ardyn better than anyone else here. Certainly better than that doe-eyed simpleton hanging off the man’s arm.

Knowing that made Noctis feel a touch more in control. Of the situation and of himself. Not that he would ever out Ardyn (though he could tell the most embarrassing stories about him, like how Ardyn could suck dick for hours on end without getting tired). To out Ardyn would be to out himself. They were hopelessly entwined in that regard. Fates mingled. 

Ardyn could pretend all he liked with Miss Evelyn. The perfect one. But Noctis held Ardyn’s very fate in his hands. There was no lie that could steer them around that. 

One word of the truth would get them both hanged. Beyond all reason, Noctis felt very satisfied knowing that. 

————————

When they arrived back at Steyliff, it was almost time for tea. While the cooks prepared, Molly asked the women if they were interested in a short walk across the grounds. Stir up the appetite a bit. 

“We also own some horses, if anyone’s interested in doing a bit of riding…”

Noctis was out of his chair before he even sat down. Molly caught his eagerness and nodded happily. 

“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” Viola assured her. Just to be polite.

“Not at all, darling! Our gamekeeper would be delighted for a chance to give the horses some exercise. This is why we keep them, after all!” Molly made it sound as if they’d been keeping horses for some time, while in fact the horses had not yet seen one full year with the Renquists. 

Molly clasped hands with Viola again. Lovingly. Happy to oblige her. The hostess scanned the crowd and asked, “Would any _gentleman_ like to escort Miss Gainsborough to the stables?” 

It was the proper thing for a man to accompany a woman, after all. Assist her as she mounted, make sure her garments were probably situated. Best done by someone trying to court her. Or else a good friend.

Noctis wanted to look over at Ardyn. But he didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment either. So he stared in the general direction of the wall and waited. 

Sure enough, Threshton answered first. “I’ll take you, Miss Gainsborough. If you don’t mind.” 

Relieved that _someone_ had accepted the offer, Noctis smiled fully at the bespectacled man. “Of course. I’d be delighted, Daniel, thank you.” He made sure to use the man’s first name in front of everyone. Molly put her fingers to her lips in surprise. 

Before they left, Noctis threw one last look at Ardyn. His lover was looking down. Face hidden by his hair.

It pissed Noctis off. At least Ardyn hadn’t thrown him a shit-eating grin though. Still. To pretend not to have any reaction—Noctis stomped angrily over to the stables. If Threshton asked him anything, Noctis didn’t hear it. 

The Renquists owned two horses. One was an older stallion with grey flecks around his eyes. Probably a horse they’d purchased on the cheap from a farm. Mostly likely not used to riding. The other was a shortish red roan with a black mane and a neat white star on her nose. She was too small for any kind of racing. Perfect just for riding (and probably cheaper than any horse even a hand higher). 

Noctis walked right to her, patting her nose and gathering the reins in one hand. She was not sheepish. She did not bridle when he touched her. A good sign. 

“Hello there, pretty girl,” Noctis cooed. Inhaling the faint equine scent around the stable and feeling right at home. “What’s your name?”

The gamekeeper grunted nearby. “Name’s Penny, miss. Might be short for something, dunno. We call her Penny.” 

Noctis combed the mare’s hair with his fingers. He looked into her eyes and found nothing but tranquility. She clearly had been trained to be around people. Penny was kind of a drab name. Cheap, in a way. Like the coin itself. Noctis wished they had done better for her, but. At least she had a name. 

“Want me to set up the sidesaddle, miss?”

“Yes, please.” 

Naturally, Noctis did not have much experience riding sidesaddle. Although, he had tried it once. A day when he and Prompto were screwing around. Trying to see what it was like (passing time together on the estate). Prompto had actually fallen off, over-estimating the balance of his weight on the right-hand side. But Noctis more or less got the hang of it after a few rounds. 

Not that he’d ever done it in a dress. But. Still. How hard could it be?

They led Penny out to pasture. Noctis eyed the saddle curiously. He knew that his left foot only would go in the stirrup while his right leg would stay curled in his lap, leaning against the pommel. The hard part would be when Noctis stirred the horse into a canter. Moving with the motions and staying balanced. Never mind bringing her all the way into a run. He’d need to really lean forward. But…not too much. Most of his weight needed to stay focused in the center. 

He could do this. Noctis was actually kind of excited. It’d be fun.

Threshton helped Noctis into the saddle, while the gamekeeper stayed on the other side to make sure that Noctis didn’t accidentally fall right off. Of course, Noctis was able to hack it. Slowly. He angled his leg against the saddle and stuck his left foot in the stirrups. Good thing this riding dress was so long. It covered his legs nicely.

Still, Threshton took the time to make sure Noctis’s legs were fully covered. Fluffing the crinoline and rearranging the skirts so that no socks or stockings showed. Noctis needed to stifle a giggle as the man turned a lovely tomato red in the process. 

“Sure you’ll be o’right, miss?” the gamekeeper asked.

“Yeah.” Noctis cleared his throat. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“Of course she will,” Threshton added. His eyes twinkled knowingly. “She’s a Sussex girl.” 

Yes. Yes she was. 

Grinning ear to ear, Noctis kicked the red roan into a light trot. They needed to get a feel for each other. Slowly at first. He needed to learn what Penny responded to. She needed to get used to his weight. His commands. 

Besides, there was no rush. The wide open wilderness was all that awaited them.

By the time Noctis was ready for a canter, he didn’t even feel like himself anymore. The wind whipped around his face. Fresh and clean. There were no people around—this was nothing like riding in Hyde Park—nor even any animals. Just fields. Fields and fields. In the distance maybe there was Blackwater River. That’s all.

Noctis did not need to be Noctis here. He did not need to _be_ anyone. He could be whatever he was. Even if he had no words to describe exactly what he was. What _they_ were, him and Viola. It didn’t even matter. 

They were enough. 

Leaning forward, they stirred Penny a little faster. Just a touch. Then more and more. The speed went straight to their head, as it always did. With nothing to hold them back, they went forward. Hair coming undone in the back. Wild. 

Free. 

Like this, they were free.

———————

When Noctis and Threshton returned, the rest of the party was just sitting down to tea. A quick ride. Only an hour. But Noctis did not want to make everyone else wait for him before they ate (which would have been the polite thing to do, since he’d given no other instructions). Besides, he could always get back in the saddle tomorrow.

Damn he really needed that ride. Everything felt so much better now!

Riding sidesaddle was fun. Noctis liked it. Not as much as regular riding, but. Being in a dress. Drowning in skirts. It felt so natural. Like being a child in his mother’s lap again. That kind of natural. Bred in the bone. Noctis wanted to do it again. And again. He loved this riding outfit and it looked so good on him.

His spirits crashed as soon as he walked into the sitting room. Straight down into the dirt.

While everyone was frittering around taking tours of the house and getting ready for lunch, Ardyn and Evelyn were sitting huddled together on the couch. Close. Far, far too close. They were whispering to each other. Things no one else could hear. But they were both smiling. Evelyn’s blue eyes were alive with excitement. Her knees clapped together as she listened to whatever Ardyn was whispering to her. Giggling up a storm.

In truth, Noctis had never known what it felt like to want to kill someone before. Murderous rage. He thought maybe he knew that now. 

Because shit. He was seconds away from strangling Evelyn right where she sat. 

How.

How…could they? How could _he_?

The young lord stomped his foot on the wooden floor. Loudly. Without thinking. Evelyn startled and looked up, surprised to find Viola standing there. Pure hatred on her face. Not even a little bit disguised. 

Ardyn looked up as well. When he made eye contact with Noctis, his face sort of fell. Not guilt—fuck no. Far from guilt. Instead Ardyn just looked resigned. As if everything—every single thing they’d done together, all the days and nights—had led up to this one inevitable moment. 

It made Noctis sick.

He turned to Threshton and announced, “I won’t be having tea with you all. Please go on without me.” Then he turned and ran up the stairs at full speed.

He didn’t know where he was going. But somehow he ended up in his own guest bedroom. Aranea was waiting there. Relaxing, reading a book. When her mistress arrived, in a flurry of movement and heavy panting, Aranea jolted to her feet, dropping the book to the floor.

“Wha—? What’s happened?” she asked. Afraid for a moment that they were discovered.

Noctis looked at her. He was so, so mad. Seeing red. Unable to speak. And then, when he saw Aranea—his big sister, a person who knew everything about his real life—he collapsed. He fell onto the bed in a pile of horse-smelling clothes and lace. Crying. 

“That fucking asshole…” Noctis sobbed.

Piece by piece, he told Aranea everything. 

By the end, his head was in her lap and she was brushing his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Just to relax him. Not contributing to any sort of conversation. Wiping the tears and snot from Noctis’s face as he cried. 

“I…don’t know, miss,” Aranea said softly. The sun was starting to set. “It…kind of feels like he’s been planning this for a while.”

“…I know…” Noctis admitted. Another pang of hurt jolted through his system,

Everything they had…was it all in Noctis’s head? Had he imagined their bond?

Impossible. No. You didn’t get to the point where you were willing to put your head in a noose for another guy unless you really cared about him. Ardyn had to care about Noctis. It’s just…maybe he thought he could get something better from that Evelyn girl.

Noctis wished he didn’t know what. But, yeah. Evelyn had a lot going for her. Real boobs, a vagina, long natural hair. An entirely female body. She could give Ardyn a proper marriage, children. Hell, they could make pretty ginger babies til the cows came home if they wanted.

How could Noctis compete with that? He was defeated before he even began. 

“It’s time for you to get in your evening gown, miss,” Aranea reminded him. “If we’re…still doing that.” 

Noctis forced himself to sit up. He felt all kinds of wrong in this moment. Wrong body, wrong head, wrong heart. Wrong life. It sucked. Pretty bad. He wanted to rip out his hair and scream.

But then he laid eyes on the evening gown he had purchased for himself. Aranea set it up on the clothing dummy to let the dress breathe.

And oh. It was beautiful.

Noctis had found a dark, midnight blue evening down imprinted with pastel roses of pink and cream. The roses were silk brocade, slightly raised from the rest of the fabric. Teeming with life. There were short sleeves, of course, with white lace around the hem. The same white lace that lined the wide, open neckline. Fit for an evening. With his elbow-length cotton gloves and hair done nice...Noctis knew he would look so, so good in this dress.

“Aranea…” he asked, looking at his lady’s maid with pleading eyes. “Can you…make me look good tonight?”

She stared at him for a moment. Catching his drift, she slowly broke out into a wide, conspiratorial grin. “I can do my best, miss.” 

Aranea’s best would certainly be as good as he’d ever get. 

Noctis took a quick bath and readied himself for the evening ahead. He had no idea what kind of game Ardyn was playing. What Ardyn thought he needed to do. If this was his lover’s way of telling him that their relationship had ended, or whatever the hell else. 

But Noctis didn’t have to accept it. He couldn’t. Not yet, not like this!

He wasn’t going down without a fight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! [Noct's evening gown!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/276408495861409384/) And [some more shots from the side](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/502573639645214743/). These are [the gloves Noctis has been talking about](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7b/31/c1/7b31c1113b9a0bad1d42594dc70bffb8.jpg). [And the shoes](http://www.1860-1960.com/xb927p0.html). ^___^ It suits him. Notes on his hair will be in the next chapter!
> 
> Also, I hope you guys aren't disappointed by the lack of traditional porn in these chapters. I know I've been skimping! But suddenly there was so much plot...don't hate me! >_<
> 
> I love you all!!


	8. The dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most plans fail. Maybe they should learn that lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...some people were asking for longer chapters...and um...surprise! *laughs nervously* Here's a longer chapter! 
> 
> Notes-  
> [Noct's hair](https://www.etsy.com/listing/261926829/bun-snood-new-design-civil-war-ball-or?show_sold_out_detail=1). Without the flowers in front, obviously. I think the third picture in has the best view.
> 
> [The stockings Noctis is wearing, plus the garters](https://sk.pinterest.com/pin/162059286564658273/). Thanks Kazechama for giving me this reference pic! :) 
> 
> [Evelyn’s dress](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/321163017147398287/)
> 
> [More on the Crimean War](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crimean_War%20) which lasted from 1853 to 1856. It damaged the British psyche quite a bit (considering the gross errors on medical and tactical fronts) and was frequently a subject of conversation at the time. For better or worse. Charge of the Light Brigade and all that.
> 
> And!! Kyuume on tumblr drew [a beautiful close-up of Viola's pissed of face](https://78.media.tumblr.com/6885e69eb228234f78052f5e9b0870dc/tumblr_messaging_p4d898wzcC1qg6yoj_1280.jpg). Presumably she's mad at Ardyn here, but even so, I pity the fool. It's amazing work <3 <3 <3 
> 
> More gender pronoun fuckery. Heh ^^''

**Chapter Eight: The dinner**

_Steyliff Grove_  
_10 February, 1857  
_ _Friday - Evening_

Even knowing his lady’s maids many skills, Aranea still surprised Noctis three times over when she dressed him for dinner. The first time was with the undergarments. Aranea knew how to tie Noctis’s garters so that the bow fell behind his legs in the most adorable fashion. Noctis eyed his own ass and the backs of his legs in the mirrors, honestly floored. He could have passed for a china doll! The white stockings with barely embossed clocking along the ankle, a tiny pink line threaded into the garter belts…Noctis looked pretty, in every sense of the word. The figure of a real lady in his women’s pantaloons and the severe cut of his corset.

“I love it, Aranea…” he breathed, trying not to sound giddy as he stared at himself in lady’s underwear. 

“Hmph.” Aranea harrumphed. Quite pleased. Then she said, “Alright now, arms up. Time for the dress to go on.” 

The second way she surprised Noctis was in how she styled the skirts of the dress. All that gorgeous midnight blue fabric made Noctis’s skin come to life immediately—his flesh might have been pearls swimming in thick blue ink. With delicate pale roses to adorn him. Noctis originally thought the look alone would have been enough (he hadn’t planned on wearing any jewelry around his neck, leaving the neckline bare). But no.

Aranea fluffed up the skirts and crinoline in the back, shaking out the material so that it fell as it was made to. Then, she pinned the crinoline underneath on top of the cage—right near his ass—and let it sit like a hump. Accentuating Noctis’s backside. Giving him curves in a place that most men longed to stare at.

“Walk around a little,” she instructed.

When Noctis walked, he gazed in the mirror to see what his ass looked like. And oh—wow! The crinoline sat comfortably on top of the cage, held in place by the pins, and gave him the most delightful bustle. It wiggled side to side as he walked, ever so slightly. Just enough to catch the eye of any man who happened to be looking in his direction.

Noctis smiled happily. Fuck yeah. Ardyn was an ass man. No denying it! Ardyn had some kind of fixation with Noctis’s ass. He liked to fondle and lick it. Spread his cheeks and massage the flesh while he stared. Once he even slapped Noctis’s ass—a memory that made a blush rise to the young lord’s cheeks. Those rough hands…grunting with pleasure as they struck him—

Shit, Noctis couldn’t afford to get turned on right now. He had already decided to keep as much control as possible throughout dinner and even afterwards. No more getting caught off guard. Whatever Ardyn did with Evelyn tonight, Noctis would stay in control.

After all, the most attractive look on a person was restraint. It wasn’t sexy to lose your cool. And it wasn’t becoming of a lady to reach across a table and choke another lady out…so best keep his heart under wraps. 

In this case, he would keep his heart wrapped beautifully under layers of satin and silk brocade. Easy enough to do. Or, it _should_ be.

Either way, Viola’s ass looked great. Noctis _loved_ it. And he was sure Ardyn wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away. Not for long. Delighted, Noctis shook his hips just because he could—making both him and Aranea break out into giggles. 

The third and final way Aranea exceeded her mistress’s expectations was in the way she did her hair. Noctis was sure he didn’t have a lot to work with, but when Aranea began styling a soft looping bun in the back—gathering as much hair as she possibly could—Noctis’s heart beat faster. With a loop in the back—even one as small as what he was working with, barely the size of a child’s fist—he looked…like a woman going out for the evening. What he was supposed to be, what he wanted to be. 

To compensate for the lack of length in the back, Aranea covered Viola’s short bun with a lace snood. The snood had a lovely flowery pattern and lace coverlet hanging delicately along the bottom. The coverlet draped all the way down to Viola’s shoulders, imitating the way a woman’s hair would drape across the back of her neck. It provided enough of an illusion to make Viola’s hair seem perfectly normal. 

He saw himself in the mirror. Bespoke and well-dressed. Eye-catching and demure. There was nothing overly garish in the pattern of his gown or the style of his hair. But he didn’t need any of that. With the smallest trappings, the tiniest details added to his female appearance, Noctis looked natural.

It was like seeing himself for the first time.

“What do you think, miss?” Aranea asked when she was finished. She contoured Viola’s cheeks with a deft hand. The lady’s maid was as skilled with shading as an architect might be with sculpting marble. 

The image in that mirror. There was a woman who could have been Noctis’s sister. A woman whom Noctis had seen before but now recognized in full. This woman was self-possessed. Comfortable in her silks. Gloves up to her elbows, collarbones peeking out from the lace of her neckline. You could track every breath she took by staring at the milky expanse of her throat. Even her Adam’s apple was concealed (thanks be to Aranea’s fine make-up skills again). 

She was, down to the last stitch of her undergarments, to the heart beating inside her chest, Viola Gainsborough. 

“…It’s amazing.” Viola stared at her lady’s maid with glistening eyes. She didn’t know how Aranea—a woman she’d known for maybe a month or so, who had been raised in the rookeries of all places—could see into her soul and draw out the image she held inside her heart. 

“Well you’re going to dinner, miss,” Aranea answered, tossing her gray ponytail behind her shoulder. “You need to look proper.” 

They shared a smile. Then Aranea added, in quieter voice, “Whatever happens, I have no doubt that you will be the most beautiful girl in the house tonight. Let all those assholes see just what they’re missing.” 

It was the strongest vote of confidence Noctis could have gotten. He stood up and hugged Aranea—the feminine way, holding each other’s elbows and pressing their cheeks together. More than appreciation, they felt a mutual sense of respect. Something to be cherished.

There was no one to escort Viola to dinner. Usually a man and woman appeared arm in arm when they arrived in the dining room. This time however, Viola was most certainly the last to appear. Everyone else would be sitting down to the first course by now. 

But. No harm in being fashionably late. Besides, Viola did not particularly care about entering alone. She could escort herself. 

She knew what she wanted. There was that spark inside of her—the embers of Noctis Caelum’s stubbornness—that demanded she get what she wanted. Yes, she was nervous. She had no idea what enemies she might encounter around the dinner table. However, being nervous was not the same as being intimidated. 

Viola did not plan on being intimidated again. Not with Aranea’s words tucked carefully in the back of her mind. And certainly not when she looked this good. 

———————

A footman saw Viola approaching. Her hands were clasped together near her mid-section, as proper. Straightening his back, the footman promptly announced her to the dining room. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Gainsborough.”

As she stepped into the dining room, Viola felt every single eye fall on her. Not just the men and women, the servants too. Everyone turned to look at her, some of them with their forks or glasses raised halfway to their mouths. 

Silence. No one seemed to be able to react fast enough.

Awe. That was the look on all of their faces. Even Mr. and Mrs. Beasly looked surprised, and they hadn’t paid much attention to Viola for the majority of the trip so far.

“Good evening, everyone.” Viola curtseyed politely. She sashayed her way over to a seat next to Molly—the last place at the table with a complete setting. “Apologies for my lateness. It took me longer than I expected to recover from my ride this afternoon.” 

Their eyes followed her movements. The Eyes appeared out of nowhere. Beasly, Threshton, and Renquist looked like the wind had been knocked out of them. Their lips were slightly parted—they might have been panting for all Viola knew. But she did not make eye contact with any of them. It took the men longer than it should have to compose themselves; a lady should not acknowledge such things. 

She did however cast a swift glance in Ardyn’s direction. 

The sight he made was not a disappointment. Ardyn’s face had gone slack—no hint of amusement or treacherous play. His eyes were dark, not their usual amber. A shadow had fallen over his face. His gaze travelled ruthlessly over every inch of Viola they could reach. From head to toe. Not the teasing, passably “gentlemanly” way he had done in Ravenscourt. Nothing like how he had looked at Evelyn. No, Ardyn’s hunger was not the politely masked version of itself he normally showcased to the world.

Instead he looked positively ravenous. Starving. 

Edging on angry. 

Excitement pooled in the bottom of Viola’s stomach. She pointedly looked away from him and raised a wine glass (hastily filled by a nearby footman) to her mouth. She took a nice, if sour-tasting, gulp of red wine and sighed merrily. She let her tongue peek out from between her lips, savoring every last drop of wine.

She heard an audible gasp from somewhere on the other side of Molly. Evelyn had raised her gloved hand to her mouth, hiding the uncouth reaction she had to that move. It seemed Evelyn had never encountered a lady showing her tongue in public—even if it was just the tip. 

_Just the tip Evie? No?_ Noctis thought rudely. He buried a smirk underneath layers of practiced poise and tossed Miss Beasly a friendly smile.

_Game on._

Noctis ran his eyes over Evelyn’s outfit. She looked pretty enough. She was wearing a cream-colored dress with orange flowers sprinkled across the fabric. Lime green ruffles lined her collar. It was a dress you might find in any of the London parlors—on a girl perhaps just debuted. A young dress, Noctis thought. Evelyn was perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven, but the dress did not accentuate her beauty. Instead it made her look weirdly older. Like she was trying too hard to appear youthful. The green washed out the healthy color on her face, as green usually tended to do. 

It wasn’t the right color or style for her. Viola almost felt bad for Evelyn. Perhaps her mother had picked out that dress, or maybe it was something she had worn a few seasons ago. Viola thought Evelyn would look much better in something pink or light purple—lavender, definitely. White, even. But not orange and green…it just didn’t work for her. 

At least her hair was styled beautifully. Ringlets pinned to either side of her face. A shiny gold necklace sat at the base her throat. Evelyn was pretty. But not quite…natural. 

Noctis, however, had chosen an unconventional color. Dark blue. Most young women shied away from darker colors because they were afraid of looking old. But on Noctis, dark colors had the exact opposite effect. They brought out the youthfulness in him, dragging porcelain sanctity from his skin and shining it brightly for the rest of the world to appreciate. He might have been the stars in the night sky. Lofty, gorgeous, and always out of reach. 

Even with unflatteringly short hair, Noctis looked better than Evelyn. They both knew it as soon as they laid eyes on each other. 

Viola folded her napkin over her lap and pondered her first victory for the evening. It had been an easy win. Too easy, almost. 

She didn’t look at Ardyn again. She didn’t want to. The feel of his presence reminded her of her anger from before. Her shame. _Fine, get mad!_ she thought. Not like Ardyn had any right to be angry, considering everything he’d done at her expense!

“Oh my dear,” Molly hastily said, gliding past Viola’s head-turning entrance. “I hope you made out well with our horses! They’ve been a bit…under-run, perhaps, what with the weather being so abysmal…” 

Naturally it would be a sizable blemish on the Renquists’ reputation if Viola had hurt herself while riding one of their horses. And under-run? The question remained whether Molly or Gabriel rode at all, ever. 

“Of course. I encountered no trouble at all, Molly,” Viola assured her. “Your mare was swift and easy to command. It was quite refreshing!” She giggled coquettishly. “I rather like a steed that gives a smooth ride without too much fuss.”

The innuendo was difficult to miss. Threshton choked on his wine and needed to suck down some water to recover. 

“Indeed, miss,” Beasly commented, raising his own glass to her. He was bemused at everything Viola appeared to be. “It seems you have a, ah…discerning taste?”

“Patrick!” his wife hissed across the table. A quick reprimand for engaging in whatever Viola was playing at. 

But Viola just nodded politely. Pretending she had no idea what her words implied. “You might say that, sir. I was raised among stallions, after all. I know how to ride well whatever I’m given, but of course a young lady has her preferences—”

Silverware clattered to the floor. Heads turned to Ardyn who had just sent half his place setting tumbling to the ground. An awkward and uncommonly rude thing for the man Ardyn pretended to be.

His face looked even darker now. Murderous. Bleak. Eyes narrowed in Noctis’s direction. 

Viola fought the impulse to laugh. Just what was he so mad about? Had he thought that she wouldn’t come down to dinner? That she somehow shouldn’t look this good? That she was harming him in some way? 

No matter how she thought about it, Viola just kept getting madder and madder. She didn’t give a fig for Ardyn’s rage. Let him work himself into a frenzy for all she cared—served him right!

“Are you quite alright, Mr. Izunia?” Viola asked innocently. Raising an eyebrow in his direction. 

The edge of his eye twitched in irritation. He flashed his lips in a tight smile and said nothing. Noctis had never seen such a reaction from Ardyn before. Viola’s blue eyes latched onto the movement. There was something different about Ardyn tonight as well. Something amiss. 

Something was going on.

“A-anyway…” Threshton began, trying desperately to steer them in another direction. “As I was saying, the office has been having an abysmal time lately. We can’t keep Crimea out of the papers.” 

“Must we talk about that dreadful war all over again?” Mrs. Beasly bemoaned.

Ignoring her, Renquist cut into his game pie and said, “Well the stories must be terrible!” There was too much interest in his voice. “Come on then, Threshton, what’s the worst you’ve heard coming out of there? Do tell.” 

An uncomfortable titter passed around the table. So this is what they had been talking about. The war, what else. You could hardly escape such talk no matter where you went in England, possibly the entire empire. Everyone at new year’s was enthralled with the same subject. As such, Noctis knew the stories from Crimea quite well. 

Yes, they were terrible. Yes, they called into question the very nature of war and humanity itself in many ways. He read enough from the papers in London, heard enough from the surviving generals in his father’s company who could not help relating their experiences once they had a few swigs of brandy in their system. Noctis did not want to hear about it again. Unfortunately there would always be people like Renquist who enjoyed listening to horror stories just for the shock value. Getting a perverse kind of pleasure, imagining that such horrible things would never happen to you.

Noctis didn’t see it that way. Suffering was suffering. Bad things could happen to anyone. Everyone felt pain. He’d experienced his own waking nightmare when his mother died alongside him in the carriage accident—things like that happened all the time, didn’t they? Look at stories like Aranea’s, like Adelaide Shaw’s. They were normal every day people before tragedy befell them. Now they had to live with the aftermath.

Noctis knew the look of people working through their memories, reliving them as they spoke. He’d seen the look on the faces of all the generals in those parlors, before their friends politely escorted home. Despair, fear. Helplessness. Begrudgingly surviving in spite of all it. That had been the same look on Aranea’s face when she talked about her deceased mistress. 

The same look on Ardyn’s face when he met that man in the street, turning silent for the rest of the night.

“You don’t have to answer that, Daniel,” Molly followed up quickly. “It’s your choice. Don’t feel pressure.” 

It seemed Molly understood a bit about suffering as well. 

Threshton was happy to be bailed out. He nodded at the hostess with eyes full of gratitude. “Thank you, Molly. I must say I believe war stories like that are unfit to be told in a lady’s presence.” 

He looked pointedly over at Viola. She smiled at him—a clear admission of friendship. Something tenuous passed between them, perhaps something soft and kindhearted. A look no one could miss if they happened to be watching. 

Viola cut her eyes impishly back to Ardyn. The man was seething in his seat. His eyes were locked on Threshton. The way he stared at Threshton…it was as if he fancied Threshton to be as easily killable as the pheasants he’d shot earlier that afternoon. It was a frightening look. Noctis almost gasped when he saw it. 

Ardyn was turning into someone else right before his very eyes. And uh….shit. 

Excitement and sick pleasure turned to distant fear inside Viola’s chest. Ardyn did not look well. Would he even last through dinner? 

At this rate, Ardyn would either kill someone with his bare hands, or else he would bend Viola over the table and fuck her amongst the food and cutlery while everyone else looked on.

Oh….Noctis shivered as he imagined that. Ardyn claiming what was his in front of everyone. Then they would see the honest side of this man, the part that was insatiable in the bedroom—Hmm. Actually, now that Noctis thought about it, he didn’t much want anyone else to see Ardyn like that. That version of Ardyn was his and his alone. The others could have that fake, pompous version of Ardyn they loved so much. Noctis would take what was real. And he would _not_ share.

“Well, Lord knows this war has dragged a host of legal troubles out from the depths of Hades,” Beasly commented. He cut his knife through his sirloin steak like a man trying to fell a behemoth. “We’ve had all kinds of investors coming in to see if any of our solicitors will defend their case.” 

Renquist nodded knowledgeably. “Yes, quite so. Many investments went south over the course of the war I’m afraid.” 

“You could say that…” Beasly added tersely. 

Noctis was beginning to get the picture now. Beasly was a lawyer or solicitor, Renquist was an investor (which explained the sudden influx of wealth), and Threshton worked in journalism. Perhaps as a writer or maybe as part of a newspaper production. They were all respectable jobs. A man might be employed in those fields and consider himself successful. Gainfully employed with the right to have an informed opinion on what was happening in the world.

And Ardyn was….? Noctis frowned. What did Ardyn do for a living again? He’d never heard of any kind of work. Whenever Ardyn needed money, he sold furniture. Yes, there were times when Ardyn went missing in the daytime. But Noctis assumed that was either to go to the pawn shop or to tend to his various social obligations. Not for any actual work…

Right. Noctis glanced warily around the table. Were they all wondering why Ardyn wasn’t contributing to this conversation? Had they bothered to ask Ardyn what he did for a living? …Did they know something Noctis did not?

Anxiety twisted in Viola’s stomach again. She had a sense of dread about all this.

“Some blokes just won’t leave us alone,” Beasly remarked with a dismal shake of his head. “Might have to take legal action myself if they won’t stop with the harassment.” 

“It’s not harassment if they’re asking for your help, darling,” Mrs. Beasly added. She spooned some salad onto her plate as a footman held the serving dish out to her.

“Help is one thing and I don’t deny anyone help.” The strange silence that followed implied such a statement was indeed false. But Beasly continued uninterrupted. “But when I tell you there’s nothing can be done, then there bloody well isn’t anything can be done! You’d think a man would learn to live with what he’s been dealt in life.”

It seemed Beasly did not understand anything about suffering. Shame. Noctis had almost liked the man in the beginning. 

“Hard lot, that, losing all your savings in moments,” Renquist commented. Clearly without a hint of sympathy. “Because of some bad investments.”

The conversation made Viola’s skin crawl. She did not take a bite of the delicious looking Cornish hen on her plate. 

“Bad investments?” Beasly scoffed. His cheeks were a touch red, either from the wine or his own rage. “Good god, it’s practically treason! Hedging your bets against the British army in wartime! Funneling money into Russia, and for what? The promise of success just because of Napoleon’s own bust-up—”

“Darling.” Mrs. Beasly placed her hand on her husband’s knee, seeing that he was getting too upset. Unfortunately it seemed as though there was no stopping him. Even Evelyn seemed embarrassed at her father’s unattractive display, hiding her face behind her shiny ringlets.

Renquist shrugged and nodded. “You have a point there, Pat. If you invested in Russia’s military in ’53, I don’t suppose there’s any legal loophole could help you now.”

“Damn right!” Beasly was practically busting buttons he was so outraged. It seemed this particular issue had been weighing heavily on him for some time. “They’re lucky I don’t report them to the Office of Special Investigations! Instead of beating down my door, they should be going into hiding or some such. Like this damned fool Besithia, or heaven help me, Aldercapt—”

“Aldercapt, you say?” 

They were the first words Ardyn had spoken all evening. Everyone at the table turned to him. 

Putting their game aside, Viola turned to Ardyn as well. The man was eating sparingly—not at all like him, especially in a setting with boundless food such as this. Ardyn was typically a very heart eater. Sometimes he forgot he was in public and began eating like a ruffian, stuffing food in his mouth as fast as his fists could move. A few times when they went to a tavern together, Viola had been somewhat embarrassed by her lover’s behavior. She needed to remind him to slow down. Take his time. Ardyn always remembered himself after a moment, leaning back and begging his apologies. 

But this? Not partaking in the bounty? It just wasn’t like him. 

Damn. Viola suddenly wished that they hadn’t engaged in this stupid battle of wills in the first place. She wanted to catch Ardyn’s eyes and quietly ask him what on earth was wrong. 

But Ardyn’s mask was back. He tilted his head in interest, brushing some wayward hair out of his eyes. “Please go on, Mr. Beasly. What of Aldercapt?”

Threshton cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Perhaps we should refrain from using anyone’s real names here. Especially as they pertain to legal matters…” 

It was a sensible suggestion, but Beasly was far beyond sense. He continued, “Bloke lost everything in the war.” 

A few gasps and sympathetic clicks of the tongue were heard around the table. 

“Says it was because he lost his general’s commission.” Beasly took another gulp of wine and shook his head in disbelief. “Not likely. Probably had his affairs wrapped up in Russia, just like that Lucis fellow.” 

“Oh, what a dreadful business.” Renquist shook his head in a pantomime of sadness. But his face showed a secretive smile, betraying his pretenses. “Read about it in the papers. Was that your doing, Threshton?” 

Threshton looked utterly defeated. He had been trying to avoid this conversation all the while but he had sorely failed. Now all he could do was wait for it to be over. “Not mine, no. I believe that particular story might have been found in the obituaries.” 

“Damn shame, I say,” Beasly spat. “Lucis should have been hanged plain and simple. Or transported, and good riddance to him. Instead of taking the easy way out like a coward.” 

“Dear…” Mrs. Beasly desperately tried to gain control of the situation. She had her hand on her husband’s shoulder, forgoing whatever was left in her plate.

“Well.” Renquist was grinning ear to ear. It seemed he had no compunctions about keeping this unsuitable conversation going. “They said he died due to ‘accidental misfiring’ of his weapon.” 

“Right. Like a rifle accidentally misfires straight into a man’s mouth—”

“Patrick!”

Mrs. Beasly was beside herself now. Red down to the collar of her burgundy evening dress. She looked pleadingly over at Molly for help. 

The hostess stood up at once. Coming to her friend’s aid. “Well! That’s quite enough of that conversation! Shall we retire to the withdrawing rooms before we have dessert?” 

The rest of the ladies at the table—Viola and Evelyn—stood up as well. They were both rather ready to move on from this dreadful turn of events. It seemed a man had committed suicide over some poor decisions made during the war. Hardly dinner discussion! But not surprising. People could not avoid talking about the fallout from the war. 

Lucis. Why did that name sound so familiar to Noctis? He’d heard it before, but right now his head felt like it was spinning a mile a minute. He could barely think. 

He looked at Ardyn again. Instead of playing this off as a laugh—as Noctis might have thought his lover would do—Ardyn had his head buried in one hand. Keeping his eyes away from everyone else. Hiding his face. 

“Ar…” Viola whispered. She wanted to go to him in that moment. To whisk him away, as she had done that day on the street.

But after everything that happened yesterday, it felt like they were worlds apart. She did not even know if he would accept her right now. Did he want her embrace? He’d wanted it on a fair number of occasions, certainly. But now? Did Ardyn want to be wrapped in Viola’s arms, the same way she wanted to do for him?

Frustration boiled to the surface. Viola wanted to stamp her feet. Scream and shout. She wanted to force Ardyn to tell her the truth. To tear off both their disguises and get down to the heart of the matter.

“Rather good idea, Mrs. Renquist.” Threshton rushed to Viola’s side. He put his hand on her elbow, searching her face for her reaction to all that bleak talk. 

It was a gentlemanly response. Past blame, especially considering the way Viola had been flirting with Daniel for most of the day. She laid her hand on his in gratitude, putting on a brave face.

But Ardyn chose that exact moment to look up. He saw everything. The way Threshton put his hands on Viola. The way she touched him in return, full of trust.

He snarled and rose from his seat with enough fury to push the chair over behind him. 

Meanwhile, Evelyn scurried straight to her mother’s side. She was not looking at Ardyn anymore. She was looking only at her mother, who was near tears. Grabbing her by the hands and trying to lead her to the withdrawing room.

So many things were happening all at once. This dinner had not gone at all the way Noctis planned—instead of teasing Ardyn into a frenzy, somehow he had turned Ardyn into the worst version of himself. Possibly because of the conversation as well. Clearly those stories held some sway over Ardyn. Not in a good way. 

“Yes, yes, to the withdrawing room.” Molly shepherded the ladies through the backdoor into the room where ladies might relax after dinner and dissemble into more civilized discussion. She made eyes at her husband, encouraging him to lead the men to the smoking room. 

Naturally, men and women were separated after a meal. But in this case, it was a wise move. Considering how high emotions were running.

Renquist held up his hands in defeat. Still smiling, somehow. “You heard the missus. Shall we retire, chaps?” 

Grumbling about how he didn’t see why they needed to miss dessert, Beasly headed for the smoking room. “Ah very well. Could do with a cigar, if you have one, Gabe?” 

“You know I do.” 

Threshton cast worried eyes at Viola. He should of course go with the rest of the men. Viola waved him away, looking only at Ardyn. The man who was currently shuffling himself into the smoking room like a corpse on two legs. It took a surprising amount of willpower for her not to follow him there. After all, Noctis was used to retiring to the smoking room after dinner. This would be his first time heading into the withdrawing room with the rest of the women.

And, somehow, he did not want to. He wanted to go to Ardyn.

Unfortunately, Threshton saw exactly where her interest lay. He let go of her elbow with a resigned nod of his head, following behind the others.

“Come, darling.” Molly took Viola by the hand and led her away.

——————-

Mrs. Beasly stood in the corner with her daughter, speaking in tones only for the two of them. Molly and Viola sat in comfortable chairs by the fireplace. They were not speaking. It felt good to have some peace and quiet for a change. No talk of war or suicide at least. 

Jesus. Noctis closed his eyes and shook his head. That poor man—Lucis. To be driven to the point where you had no way out…such a terrible death.

Lucis. Now that it was quiet and Noctis could finally remember where he’d heard the name. Wasn’t Engheld referred to as “the old Lucis place?” Aranea had said as much when she talked of how she got her job. So, in that case, the Lucis family must have owned Engheld before Ardyn. Yet Ardyn said it was his childhood home? That didn’t add up. One of his lover’s lies must be woven into the story here. 

Still. To think that the last person who owned Engheld had committed suicide. It gave Noctis the creeps. Not to mention, he could not help feeling like Ardyn knew something more about the story. Whether his lover was explicitly involved or not… 

No. Viola shook her head where she sat. No. Ardyn could not have been involved in something so horrible. Perhaps Ardyn knew more than he was telling, but. He was no culprit in some insane plot to coerce a man to commit an act so heinous. Or to lead a man down a similar path. Noctis refused to believe that. 

He refused. Ardyn was hiding something, yes. Probably a lot of things. But Noctis _knew_ him. He’d seen Ardyn at his worst, at his weakest. Naked. Laid bare by an orgasm so intense it left him gasping, drooling on Noctis’s shoulder. You could not get any more honest than that. Nothing Noctis knew from his many nights spent in bed with Ardyn told him there was such cruelty in that man. 

He would have to believe in that. At least until he had incontrovertible evidence of anything else. 

Viola clasped a hand to her chest. Thinking about Ardyn right now made her heart ache. She was intensely worried about him, needing to make decent conversation with those other men when he was in such a state. 

It would be unthinkable for a woman to enter a smoking room while men were talking. Otherwise Viola might simply barge over there right now and demand to speak with him.

The look on Ardyn’s face. Darkness. Mixed with hatred and disgust. And…sadness. Yes, there was no small amount of sadness in the wrinkles around Ardyn’s face. 

What could be driving him to that level of torture?

Evelyn made her way over to Molly and Viola. Skirts rustling. Her face was dappled red with embarrassment and the flurry of activity they had all been subject to in the past few minutes.

She looked at Molly first. “I’m so sorry for my father’s behavior,” Evelyn rushed to say.“He’s been…spread rather thin at work lately. I’m afraid his duties might be wearing on his nerves just a bit.” 

Molly waved the matter away with a delicate hand. “Not at all, dear. Don’t feel responsible.” She offered Evelyn a sad smile. “We all know how men are when they get in a room together, a few glasses of wine in hand.” 

It was a meager way of admitting some guilt on her part as well, since Renquist had been quite an enabler in that conversation.

“Yes, indeed.” Evelyn returned the smiled, clasping her hands at her waist. They seemed to share the same helpless sentiment.

Women who were powerless to the whims of the men in their life. Noctis frowned. He did not envy them that. Although…in many ways they were al powerless. Men and women alike. In this world, everyone had a role to perform. No matter how much it hurt. Everyone was expected to play the hand they had been dealt. Soldier on. Keep up appearances. 

_You’d think a man would learn to live with what he’s been dealt in life,_ Beasly hadsaid. 

Why? Why should any of them accept it? When the facts of reality were a stranglehold…

Evelyn turned to Viola next. She offered her a small bow of the head. “And…I believe I owe you an apology as well, Miss Gainsborough.” 

That was unexpected. Viola stiffened.

“I…was unaware Mr. Izunia was your…traveling companion,” she said hastily. “I—well when I saw your face this afternoon, I knew something was wrong. I asked Molly,” She nodded at the hostess. “and found out that you had arrived together. In that case…” Evelyn faltered, shifting her weight between her feet. “Well, I don’t pretend to understand your relationship, but if I offended you at all, I most sincerely apologize—”

Viola instantly forgave her. Evelyn looked on the verge of tears. It must be humiliating to have to apologize for courting someone. To be caught in the act, as it were.

And at the end of the day, Noctis did not blame her. It wasn’t Evelyn’s fault. Ardyn was the one to blame for trying to play both sides. 

Jumping to her feet, Viola put a steadying hand on top of Evelyn’s. “That’s…alright,” she said uncertainly. (Noctis had not been on the receiving end of many apologies in his day. How did this work again?) “I mean, well. You didn’t know, so. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I apologize as well, Viola,” Molly said. “I didn’t think the two of you had that kind of relationship. But when Evie told me about this afternoon…well. I suppose I’m guilty of quite a few ills, aren’t I?” 

That was true. Molly had led Evelyn to Ardyn straight away. But even then, Noctis could not blame Mrs. Renquist. She’d been such a good friend to him for most of the day. And if she hadn’t known either, well then.

“Oh, Molly, no…” Viola shook her head. “I don’t feel that way!” 

Evelyn glanced to the side, sniffing. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I…wish the two of you well.” She broke into a polite smile. “And I’m glad to have met you, Miss Gainsborough.” 

“…Me?” Viola wrinkled her nose in surprise. Not the most ladylike gesture. 

Instead of calling her out, Evelyn just giggled. “Yes, you. I’ve never met a woman as…self-possessed as you are, Miss Gainsborough. You seem rather confident in yourself. Not caring what other people think—if they call you rugged or whatever.” 

Viola paused to think of that. She didn’t feel confident most days. But, she supposed in a way it was true. The swagger that Noctis sported (mostly over-compensation, it was true) carried over a little bit to Viola. She felt so strong and natural in women’s clothes—to her it was freedom. Being released from shackles in such a way did wonders for a person’s confidence. No doubt about that.

“I…” Viola fought back a blush. She’d never received a compliment so nice, from someone she’d just met. “Well, thank you, Miss Beasly.” 

Evelyn glowed. “You’re quite welcome. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from you, Viola—if I may call you that.”

“You may.” 

Nodding pleasantly, Viola led them both to the couch where they could talk together comfortably. Molly stood to go comfort Mrs. Beasly in the corner.

“Perhaps I care too much what others think of me…” Evelyn said aloud, wringing her gloved hands. “It’s just….” She forced a smile to her face. “Well, you’re young still, but. When you get to be twenty-eight and still going through the rounds trying to find a suitable husband…” 

Oh, twenty-eight. Evelyn was older than Viola guessed.

The Beasly daughter glanced over at her mother, who was in deep conversation with Mrs. Renquist. In a quieter tone, she continued, “…It gets tiring, I suppose. Trial and error. You know.” 

Noctis remembered what Luna had said to him about becoming an old maid at twenty-five. He hadn’t really put much stock in it then, but now he saw the weary look on Evelyn’s face. Evelyn had probably been debuted years ago. Maybe even ten years. To still be searching for marriage requests, being turned down or not finding anyone that fit her tastes. It must have been exhausting! 

Noctis was only twenty-three, and every time his father so much as mentioned marriage he wanted to scream. He could only imagine what kind of pressure Evelyn was under. Maybe her parents were pushing her to settle at this point, while she was still considered attractively youthful. That couldn’t feel great. The world beginning to care less and less about what you found appealing in a mate, pushed ever forward towards her own duties as a daughter from an upper middle-class household. 

“Yes.” Viola nodded. “It feels sort of like a trap, doesn’t it?”

Shocked that she would be so frank, Evelyn’s round eyes bulged from her head. “Y-yes! That’s exactly what it feels like. A trap. With no way out, of course.” 

Viola held the other woman’s hands sympathetically. She didn’t know what to say. What was the way out for a woman like Evelyn? Expected to do one thing only with her life? 

“And well…” Evelyn sighed, linking hands with Viola gratefully. “When a man like Mr. Izunia pays you attention in…that kind of way…” She trailed off, growing red in the face. “I suppose I got carried away.” 

“Don’t worry,” Viola stroked her hands reassuringly. “I understand. It…was like that for me, too.” 

Hell yeah it was. The first time Ardyn paid him attention. Complimenting his womanliness that day in Ravenscourt Park…yup. Same reaction. 

Except that time had ended in a mad whirlwind of sex that changed Noctis forever. So, slightly different in the regard. Not nearly as respectable as Evelyn’s courtship had been. But otherwise the same.

Regardless, Evelyn seemed happy with that response. She laughed prettily. “I’m sure it was. And, like I said before, I wish you both well.” 

“Thank you.” It was the second time Viola found herself thanking Evelyn in the span of only a few minutes. Maybe they could end up being friends after all.

Honestly, Everlyn would do well with a man like Threshton. Maybe once Daniel finally divorced his wife, he could begin courting Miss Beasly properly. After all, he seemed like a simple, pleasant man. The kind of person who would adore Evelyn no matter how old she got. Plus, their families knew each other. They would make a good match. Once everything was settled.

Yes. Evelyn deserved a kind man. And Daniel deserved a pretty girl who would be loyal to him. 

Viola’s mouth curled into a smile as she imagined playing matchmaker for the two of them. What fun!

“Just…be careful, alright?” 

“Hmm?” Viola was pulled out of her imaginings by that unprompted warning from Evelyn. 

“Be careful with that one, Viola.” Evelyn tossed her head in the general direction of the door. “Mr. Izunia, I mean. He’s a charming man, but. With that kind of charm?” The smile she offered was more of a grimace. “He’s likely to break your heart.” 

The words were harsh but fair. After all, he’d been blatantly courting someone else while Viola watched. Hardly a masterful deduction that Ardyn was—at the very least—a scoundrel. 

Fortunately, Noctis had known that much about his lover since the moment he saw that black sun blazed across Ardyn’s chest. As mysterious as it was alluring, for Noctis at least.

“True.” Viola surrendered her agreement. “But…I suppose we’ll see.”

——————-

When the men and women reunited in the dining room for dessert, Ardyn was nowhere to be found. Renquist and Beasly were laughing now, clearly more than a bit drunk off the brandy they had enjoyed in the smoking room. Threshton looked bored and on edge at the same time.

Molly ushered them all to their seats, trying to share in the merriment of the two men and uplift the mood. Viola’s eyes darted nervously across all their faces. Trying to detect some sign of Ardyn, some hint of where he might have gone. Finding nothing, she turned to Threshton instead. 

“Where’s Ar…erm, Mr. Izunia?” she whispered anxiously.

Threshton sighed. “Don’t know. The fellow excused himself and walked off at some point. They were discussing Delvyn Lucis again and it seemed Mr. Izunia had endured enough.” Raising a glass to his lips, Threshton bounced his eyebrows in sympathy. “Can hardly blame him, though. That grisly story was all over the papers a year ago. No need to rehash it now.”

Delvyn? Noctis’s blood ran cold. No way of mistaking that name. He knew Ardyn must be a mess. He needed to get to him! 

“Did he retire to his rooms?” Viola asked, desperation edging on her tone. 

“I’m afraid he didn’t say.” Threshton turned to face her fully. Intrigued by her intense reaction. “He just sort of…walked out.” 

Noctis could imagine that.

She nodded resolutely, not even bothering to sit at the table for dessert. She announced that she was tired and would be headed straight to her rooms for the remainder of the evening. She thanked the host and hostess for a lovely dinner (kind of a farce at that point) and immediately made her exit.

She ran up the stairs to their adjoined bedrooms. Without even stopping at her own room, Viola rapped on Ardyn’s door—forgetting to disguise her manly force.

“Er—come in!” Ignis’s voice.

Throwing open the door, Viola was met with the sight of her lifelong valet alone in the bedroom. He immediately stood when he saw his mistress out of breath, donned in her evening wear.

“Noc—M-miss Viola!” Ignis exclaimed. He adjusted his glasses. “You look absolutely lovely!” 

“Thanks, Ig,” she replied. “Did you see Ardyn at all?”

Ignis shook his head, a shadow appearing along the outline of his face. “He hasn’t come here since he dressed for dinner.” The shadows darkened. “Miss Highwind told me about his behavior this afternoon.” 

Something silver flashed from the palm of Ignis’s hand. Viola looked down and saw it was the blade of a razor. She would have been surprised—but this was Ignis. And Ignis was one with his blades. They were an extension of his own self, in ways that were frankly alarming at times.

“If he’s become…troublesome to you in any way, miss,” Ignis rumbled. He brandished the razor near his hip. “Do let me know.”

Touched—and shocked, honestly, at the threat in his voice—Viola broke into a strangled laugh. “No, wait! Don’t kill him, Ignis. I just need to talk to him!” 

Ignis scoffed. “…Not kill.” He gestured to the side. “Just…a bit of a shaving accident, perhaps.” 

Viola wanted to hug him. Hours ago, she would have readily agreed to such a suggestion. Fortunately, some things had changed over dinner. (Still, damn. She would have to remember this little revenge scenario in the future.)

“No, no shaving accidents.” Viola waved her hands frantically. “I…we need to talk. That’s all. So, if he comes by will you tell him I’m looking for him?” 

“Certainly, miss.” Ignis tucked the shaving razor back into the folds of his livery. “Will you be needing anything else?” 

Viola shook her head, already leaving. “I just need to find him!” 

She began a brisk tour of the entire country house. Top to bottom. Luckily by this point she was well-used to walking in heels and crinoline, because it might have been tiring otherwise. She searched every study, every sitting room. Ardyn had to be somewhere here—surely he hadn’t _left_ , his things were still upstairs! Even so, he was doing a remarkable job of hiding. Viola couldn’t find him no matter where she looked. 

At her wits end, tired of opening doors and finding no one, Viola went out servant’s door. The cold February wind rushed to meet her. The barren fields of Steyliff Grove were the only thing out there. A distant rustling as the wind disturbed the grass. Some pinpricks of light from the farther reaches of Swallowfield. Darkness. Blackness.

Had Ardyn gone for a walk in this? It was nearly pitch black out here. And he likely had no destination…   


Still, Viola searched for red hair against the empty scenery. She found nothing. Not a trace.

Her heart fell. 

After briefly entertaining the notion of going to find him out there (horrible idea, she wasn’t dressed for winter weather), Viola closed the door and began the walk back to her room. Morning seemed so terribly far away. All in all, she really didn’t want to wait to sort this out. Even though the dark left her helpless…

Why did Ardyn have to be so insanely frustrating about all this? Why couldn’t he just talk to her like any other man? What was it between them that made conversation so difficult? Viola’s temper began to flare the more she thought about how ridiculous this all was.

As she turned the corner into the sitting room—the one where they had all drank tea earlier that afternoon—she ran smack into a solid body. Cold clothes and warm flesh underneath—

It was Ardyn. 

They both gasped when they saw each other. The sitting room was dark, only the gas lamps were lit (the fireplace had long since gone cold). The tables and chairs were placed right where the party had left them. An eerie silence lingered where before there had been polite conversation and excitement over the hunt. All the doors were closed, except for the one Viola had just opened to take a shortcut through the sitting room.

Ardyn was standing there in the nearly total darkness. Noctis had no idea what Ardyn was doing, what he was looking at. 

His eyes reflected the dim light from the gas lamps. A look Noctis recognized immediately. The devil’s own gleam. Not a touch of the impish angel Noctis had come to know on a regular basis. He was all fire and pain, a presence that might have sent chills down Noctis’s—Viola’s—spine. 

A beast in the night. Towering over them. 

But they were not afraid. They knew him. They _knew_ him.

“Get out.” Ardyn forcefully pushed Noctis backwards. Not enough to send him tumbling, but Noctis needed to catch himself on one foot. “Leave me.”

In response, Noctis slammed the door closed behind him. Trapping them both in the same room. 

“No.”

Ardyn’s eyes flashed angrily. He looked like he was about to spit—either literally or figuratively, spitting on the floor like a laborer or else vomiting up some kind of evil, rage-fueled reply. Noctis braced himself for either, but in the end, Ardyn just turned his back and stomped towards the cold fireplace.

They stood awkwardly for a moment. Not sure who might make the first move. 

“My dear…” Ardyn spoke in a sickly version of his usual purr. “…you are stepping into the ring with a monster. Do you understand?”

The words sounded so strange to Noctis’s ears. He’d never heard Ardyn talk like this before. But he refused to be intimidated.

“What monster? You mean _you_? Tch.” Noctis crossed his arms petulantly. “Yeah, right. I’ll take my chances.” 

Ardyn said nothing. His hulking figure was motionless in the dark.

Noctis’s heart was racing. He was scared, yeah—this was weird as hell—but he was more pissed off. The frustration and anger that had been building that whole day were about to explode. 

“Hey!” Noctis marched up to Ardyn and tapped him rudely on the shoulder. “I’m talking to you, asshole.” 

Ardyn did not move for a moment. Noctis tapped him again—stabbing him with his finger this time. 

In a flash, Ardyn whipped around and caught Noctis by the hand. He wheeled around to face Noctis, getting right into his face like a man spoiling for a fight.

Were they going to fight here? They were nose to nose. Noctis could feel and smell Ardyn’s breath huffing in his face. He was cold—he probably had been outside not too long ago—but the furnace inside of him was operating on all cylinders. Fuming. Billowing out smoke and flames alike. 

Fine. If they were going to fight then Noctis would do his best. He could fight in an evening gown and a corset. Why not? He made a fist in his white gloves. But the material might soften the blow if he decided to throw a punch…and the silk was really good for something else…

Anyone who’d ever been in a fight knew it was better to deal the first blow. Knock your opponent off balance.

So, opening his hand, Noctis swung. He slapped Ardyn right in the face.

Grunting, Ardyn took a step to the side. He seemed dazed, some of the fire evaporating from his eyes. Clutching the side of his face, he turned back to Noctis with his mouth dangling, as if he wanted to say something. 

“ _That_ was for making me run around this whole place looking for you!” Noctis yelled before Ardyn had a chance to get a word in. 

Still with the upper hand, Noctis struck again. This time he slapped Ardyn’s other cheek, snapping the man’s neck in the opposite direction. 

“And _that_ was for screwing around with Evelyn in front of everyone!” Noctis flexed his fingers. The gloves muted any stinging he might have otherwise felt, but Ardyn was definitely feeling some pain. Noctis’s palms echoed from the impact. 

He wasn’t done. He got his hand ready again, poised to strike. “This is for being an asshole at dinner—”

“Stop!” Ardyn grabbed both of Noctis’s wrists to cease his assault. “Stop hitting me, you…whiny slag!” 

Fighting his way out of Ardyn’s grip, Noctis pulled away. They both huffed indignantly at each other. Noctis didn’t quite understand the insult Ardyn had thrown at him, but he knew it was something bad.

Fuck him!

“Fuck you!” Noctis pulled his hair out of the careful bun Aranea had given him, tossing the snood and coverlet to the floor. His black hair went wild—his eyes glared daggers into Ardyn’s face.

“You wanna fight me? Let’s go!” 

Ardyn rubbed his sore cheeks, checking for blood. There was none. Still, those slaps looked like they had successfully knocked Ardyn out of whatever crazy demonic mood he’d just been in. He was already looking less grizzly around the edges. More man than beast at this point. A fraction of his usual light sparkled around his pupils.

Noctis relaxed a bit when he saw that. Things were starting to return to normal ever so slightly. But he was still ready to go whenever Ardyn wanted!

Sighing, Ardyn smoothed his weary face. “I don’t want to fight you, Noct.” 

That was already a risk, using his real name. But Noctis didn’t even care anymore. “And who says you get to decide? Maybe I want to fight!” 

“Tch.” Ardyn’s cheeks twitched. Oozing hatred. Although his face was more human, he still looked pretty damn pissed. “Why would you waste your time fighting me when you could be…” He grunted, as if this hurt him to say. “…throwing your skirts over your head for that…” His next words twanged in that familiar accent he tried so very hard to conceal. “…qock’d out fuckwit… _Threshton_?”

Surprise laughter bubbled out of Noctis’s mouth. “Oh, _that’s_ what you’re mad about right now? Me and Daniel?”

Ardyn narrowed his eyes into slits. “ _Daniel_.” The name dripped like acid from his mouth. “Wouldn’t you much rather be with that sycophant? A man who can…fix your skirts and hold your hand every time you encounter a fallen twig half the size of his own prick? Hmm?” 

Noctis had never seen Ardyn…swear like this before. It was…well, it was actually kind of hot. Especially to know that part of the reason—bizarre dinner conversation aside—was because of Noctis. Because he was jealous.

It pleased the young lord very much to know that Ardyn had gotten jealous over him. So, they were at least partially even.

“Oh, come on, Ardyn!” Noctis threw his gloved arms out in exasperation. “I thought you _wanted_ me to hook up with Daniel! Isn’t that what you wanted this morning? When you looked at me?”

“I—!” Ardyn snapped his mouth closed. He combed an anxious hand through his hair, forcing the tangled mess to into wild curls. “Yes, you and Daniel would make a lovely couple. And from what I perceived about him, I daresay he would have no problem with the delightful little secret you’re hiding between your legs. Under all that crinoline. You might even get him to go straight to the gallows for you if that’s what you want. Only, leave me to my own devices if you please!” 

Burned, Noctis flinched. “Is…that what you want?” 

Ardyn’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Darling, haven’t you been waiting for a prince to sweep you off your feet? To carry you into the life of the pampered princess you’ve always dreamed of?” 

Well…not that Noctis had been waiting for that exactly, but. He did sometimes prefer fantasy to reality. Imagining that the sum of Ardyn’s past didn’t matter as long as they could have their afternoons together wandering around London like a gentleman and lady. Not quite a prince and princess—

“I am _not_ that person, love.” Ardyn shook his head solemnly. “I am no prince. No gentleman, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.” 

Noctis looked away. He had realized that, of course.

Dropping his voice, the older man took a step towards him. Looking right into Noctis’s eyes. “I cannot give you the life you want.” 

Unbidden tears jumped from Noctis’s throat. Climbing into his eyes. He knew it was true; Ardyn could offer Noctis no kind of future. Nothing beyond their afternoons and evenings. They could not even be together using their real names. Fuck, Noctis didn’t even know Ardyn’s real name! 

Whether Noctis was a man or woman—difficult to tell, these days—one thing was for certain: The life of a well cared for lover did not lie with Ardyn, the man who needed to sell half his possessions in order to survive the winter. In reality, whatever they had together was not destined to last. Sooner or later, probably once the Season began, they would need to end it. Noctis would need to get married to Luna, Ardyn would need to find himself his own wife. Preferably someone well-monied to help him get by—

But _why_? Why did they have to accept that? Why did they have to end it? Why couldn’t they fight to keep things the way they were?

Eyes swimming in tears, Noctis grabbed Ardyn’s shoulder. “How do you know that? What if _you’re_ the life I want?” 

His cheeks were wet now. 

Ardyn raised his eyebrows. He seemed surprised, but he still shook his head. “Noctis, you’re not making any sense. You have choices. A perfectly fine way of life no matter who you choose to bed. But not with me. I’m a pauper at best, darling. I’d lead you down a road you wouldn’t come back from—”

“Shut up!” Noctis was crying now. Full on. He wanted to push Ardyn as hard as he could. Punch him. “Just…shut up!” 

Swallowing hard, Noctis forced back his tears. He met Ardyn’s gaze unashamedly, needing to say this next part before it tore him apart from the inside out.

“I want to be with you, Ardyn! I don’t want Threshton or anyone else.” He wiped his face on the back of his white-gloved arm. “I just want you.” 

Shock fell on Ardyn’s face. He frowned, turning his head in disbelief. As if he had expected Noctis to say many things. But not _that_.

When his sense returned, Ardyn scoffed. He looked at Noctis with a patronizing smile. Like he was explaining all this to a child. “It wouldn’t last my dear.”

“Why wouldn’t it? I _want_ it to last!” To be fair, Noctis sounded quite childish in that moment. “I’d fight to stay with you, Ardyn. No matter what it takes—”

Ardyn shook his head. A look of anger rose to his face. “No. You don’t even know me.” 

Moving closer, standing so that they were flush against each other, Noctis cupped one of Ardyn’s cheeks in his hand. 

“But I _do_ know you. Don’t I?” He sniffed and brought their foreheads together. 

Ardyn felt distant in his hands. There, but so far away. “You don’t. I haven’t even told you the first thing about myself…”

“I don’t care about all that.” Noctis shook his head, rubbing their skin together in a harsh caress. “I mean that I _know_ you. The real you. The one who knows exactly what I am and still treats me like a proper lady. The man who fucks me boneless, nightly, and makes me cry—even though I like to pretend that I don’t. But I do. I cry when you fuck me, Ardyn.” 

A shiver passed through the older man. From head to toe. Noctis felt it because they were pressed so close. 

A low growl rose up from Ardyn’s throat. His eyes were closed. “You cried the first time, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” Noctis smiled wistfully at the memory. “But I lied and said I didn’t because you were already so smug and everything…” 

“As if I wouldn’t notice. Of course I noticed, you idiot.” A slow smile returned to Ardyn’s face. The tension in his shoulders was melting, morphing into a kind of liquid inertia that Noctis knew well. 

This was the way that Ardyn stood—fuck, Noctis could see it in the way his legs were just slightly apart—when he wanted to have sex with him. 

Arousal mingled with desperate yearning settled over Noctis. It was a yearning that was in part sexual, in part deeply emotional. An all-consuming feeling. Noctis wanted Ardyn with his whole being.

He _wanted_. Everything.

Breathing heavily, Noctis went on to say, “Ardyn, I was so mad at you when I saw you hitting on Evelyn. So fucking mad at you…” 

“I…” Ardyn sighed, leaning back just a bit. “I was trying to give you a way out. You realize that? An invitation to find someone else, someone who is better suited to you and your…lifestyle. A chance to…get away from me and this endless drudgery of past woes. Woes that I’m starting to think will plague me my whole life—”

“I know.” Noctis had gathered as much. There was nothing inherently special about Evelyn, other than that she was available. And she was not a part of Ardyn’s past. And her parents had accepted the prospect of a marriage between them.

Too bad. 

Noctis wrapped his arms around Ardyn’s neck. He was a mess of smudged make-up and tears, but even so. He was smiling. He could smell Ardyn again—that musk and faint cologne. Spice. A hint of shampoo this time, Ignis’s shampoo. Cleanliness smelled strange on Ardyn, but Noctis liked it. He ran his fingers through Ardyn’s hair. Just because he could.

Wow. It really was much silkier when washed. Noctis toyed with the tips, pleased to see another shiver sneak its way through him. 

“But I don’t want an out, Ardyn. Nope, sorry.” He kissed Ardyn’s cheek. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

Without warning, Ardyn scooped Noctis up in his arms. He pressed Noctis’s back against the nearest wall and started kissing the life out of him. Hard and heavy. Barely stopping to give them a chance to breathe. Forcing his tongue all the way down Noctis’s throat. Strangling him. Overpowering him.

Whimpering, Noctis splayed his limbs and let himself be overpowered. He could taste a hint of the darkness Ardyn had been wearing before. The raw animal energy. Uncontrolled. Rough. 

He liked it. A lot.

Ardyn broke away for a moment to rasp in Noctis’s ear, “Heaven knows, Noct. I don’t want to be rid of you.”

Panting, clothes scratching at his skin—shit, Noctis’s bodice was too tight all of a sudden, too much clothing—Noctis fisted Ardyn’s hair. “Then don’t act like you do.” 

“I…” Ardyn trailed off. He chose instead to leave a trail of bites and kisses down Noctis’s neck. He lapped at the wide neckline of the evening gown the younger man was wearing, sucking worshipfully on the exposed collarbones. Wiping away all the carefully placed powder. 

He dropped to one knee in front of Noctis. Like a man proposing, and yet so very incapable of any such promise. More like a man brought to his knees by some divine judgement. Thoroughly out of control, Ardyn was unable to stop himself from running his mouth all over Noctis’s clothed bodice. He licked the silk brocade, tonguing the fine material like a dog lapping scraps from the floor. 

Noctis could feel the impact of the older man’s tongue. Could see the little pink muscle poking between his lips. He moaned at the sight. When Ardyn looked up, he saw a pair of golden eyes that were completely smitten. Slack and wanting.

“Oh, Noct…” Ardyn breathed. He trailed his hands down to the hemline of Noctis’s skirts, right where they touched the floor. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” 

“I—” 

But Noctis cut off with a gasp when he felt Ardyn’s hands explore underneath his skirts. Feeling up the cage crinoline. Searching for the stays of the contraption around Noctis’s waist. 

“No, you don’t know, do you?” Ardyn chuckled. He deftly undid the stays, letting the reed-backed crinoline fall to the floor with a thunk. “Well then let me explain. When you entered the dining room this evening, Viola, I damn near lost my whole mind.” 

Viola’s head fell back against the wall. Ardyn rose to his feet and lifted her out of the crinoline, whole-body, like last time. Without the support of the reeds, the evening dress fell around Viola’s legs in a form-fitting fashion. There were still some layers of petticoats and cotton crinoline, but most of the dome-shape was lost.

“In all my years, I had never—and still haven’t, I’ll add—seen anyone so stunningly beautiful before.” 

Ardyn swept Viola over to the nearest chair. A settee. He sat and dragged her with him, cupping her backside so she straddled his lap. Fishing underneath all those layers, Ardyn finally found her ass, covered as it was by thin frilly pants. 

“I kept imagining _this_ , this ass right here, in my hands. You, with your eyes rolled back, taking me to the hilt as you’re so good at doing. Riding me like one of your precious stallions.” 

Viola moaned. She tried to kiss Ardyn’s lips, but he gripped her. Forcing her to look at him instead. 

“Full-stand, my dear. Right there at the dinner table.” 

Grinning wickedly, Ardyn stuck Viola’s gloved fingers in his mouth and cleverly pulled the fabric from her arm. When her limb was free, he spat the glove onto the floor and guided her bare hand between his legs. Forcing her fingers to trace his burgeoning manhood, where it strained against the fabric of his black dress pants. 

She gasped at the feel of it. Knowing exactly how that organ would feel if she held it tightly in her palm. Or in her mouth. Or in that aching place, the thirsty hole where only Ardyn had ever been. The place he had taught how to feel pleasure.

She wanted him there, now.

“Ardyn…” Biting her lip as she tried to fight the neediness in her belly, Viola scrambled to unbutton Ardyn’s trousers. She wanted his manhood to be exposed. To see it and feel it as she had so many times before. 

Humming in a low, dark voice, Ardyn let her free his cock. It sprang from his trousers and Viola sobbed in anticipation. She knew—with every fiber of her being—that Ardyn was going to give it to her rough tonight. And oh sweet lord. That’s exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to cum inside of her, to feel him spending copiously, beyond all control…

“Viola, darling,” Ardyn cooed. He pushed the tangled black hair from her face. “There has never been anyone that I wanted as much as you. That you can drive me to this point—my prick drilling a hole into the woodwork of some bloke’s dining table, cock out in some country house in the Berks. Past any kind of pretense…” He clicked his tongue in amazement. “It’s miraculous, dear.” 

Trembling with want, Viola sunk between his legs on the floor. She was dirtying her lovely dress and she didn’t even care. All she wanted in that moment was Ardyn’s cock, the salty, bitter taste of him that she craved more than food or drink. Straining her neck to reach, Viola brought her mouth to his prick. She dragged her tongue from base to tip and moaned aloud. 

“Hnnn…” Ardyn jolted in his seat. Some pearly liquid pooled at the tip. He was already so excited! In record time, by Viola’s reckoning. 

She lapped the tip happily, sucking whatever liquid she could from him. Smearing his pre-cum all over her rogue-stained lips. It was her turn to worship him. This body—the memory of this man’s cock and hands—had been tormenting her all day. The idea that these glorious things might be out of her reach had made her so very frantic. Now she could enjoy them at last. 

They weren’t done with this. This relationship, this need. This thing between them. It wasn’t over. Not yet. Not when they could both bring each other to the brink of sanity from nothing but implications and batted eyelashes.

“Don’t say you want to leave me,” Noctis said suddenly, licking his lips for any trace of cum. “I don’t…want you to.”

“Yes, I know, love,” Arydn replied. He grabbed a fistful of the young lord’s hair. Tenderly. “I won’t.”

“And don’t look at anyone else,” Noctis continued. “No other girls. Or guys. I don’t want you to court anyone, or sleep with anyone. Just me.” 

He was stroking Ardyn’s cock roughly. Watching as the older man lurched forward every time Noctis passed his thumb over his slit. Teasing him. Trying to have him promise him everything—whether or not they could ever actually have a happy ending, it didn’t matter, as long as they could keep doing this—right at the moment he brought Ardyn to climax. 

“Yesss…” Ardyn hissed. He was gritting his teeth, hips rocking up into Noctis’s hand. “I know, I know. I won’t, Noct. I haven’t…not anyone but you…ever since that first time….”

“You haven’t?” Noctis froze for a moment as he absorbed that.

Ardyn groaned in disappointment, very near the edge. Still he looked at Noctis with eyes that held nothing but the truth. A truth he had begrudgingly given up in a moment of passion. 

“How could I?” Ardyn asked helplessly. “Knowing that you were out there in the world? That sweet, sweet ass of yours…just waiting for me?”

Viola cried out in burst of pleasure and relief. She tried to take Ardyn in her mouth again, but he grabbed her shoulders. Stopping her once more. 

“How.” Ardyn’s eyes were dark. The mask discarded, revealing the feral side of him. “I ask you, Noct. Viola. How can you do this to me? How can you make me…like this?” He gestured to his leaking prick. “To make me want to abandon everything I’ve come here to do, everything I’ve been working for…how?” 

Unsure how else to respond, Viola smirked at him. A victory smirk. 

That was the last straw. Ardyn’s face dissolved into anger. “Get up here,” he barked.

She did not think to disobey. She straddled his hips once more, sitting in his lap just as they’d started.

“No, not like that.” He flashed her a devilish grin and lifted her by the waist. “Like this.”

Before she could react, Ardyn forced Viola onto her stomach. Laying her out across his lap. Face down, Viola squirmed until her weight was properly balanced. She didn’t want to fall flat on her face! 

Barely giving her a chance to situate herself, Ardyn hiked up her skirts. Waist-high. Exposing her stockings, garters, and delicate panties to the room. 

“Hey!” Noctis turned his head, unsure what was going on. 

“Now, now.” Ardyn had him over his knee. He stroked the backs of his thighs, teasing the pretty bow Aranea had tied in the garters. He slipped his fingers into the hem of the stockings to caress the sensitive skin underneath. 

“You slapped me before. And you’ve been tormenting me all day. I think it’s time I returned the favor, no?”

Technically they had been tormenting each other, but still. Ardyn had a point. 

The older man groped Viola’s backside, cupping her ass and thumbing the frilly hemline. He stuck his thumb underneath and fondled her crevice. The place where she wanted him. Just barely brushing her entrance, letting her taste it and know what it would feel like inside. 

Then, without warning, he dragged his hand away and slapped her ass. Not too hard, it was over the panties. But still. Viola had not been expecting it. 

Pain and harsh shivers reverberated across her body as she absorbed that slap. This wasn’t like the last time Ardyn spanked her—that time had been spur of the moment and almost gentle. This was rough. Ardyn was really going to punish her. 

Wetness seeped through her panties at the prospect. Her cock quivered. She wanted him to hit her again. It felt good—a kind of punishment (and no one had ever taken the time to punish Noctis properly, but that was besides the point) and more importantly, a kind of attention. Something Ardyn had been saving for her and her alone.

She wanted that. Special treatment. 

Letting her mouth hang open, Viola turned to look at him. Her face was wanton, begging. 

“Do it again,” she said. “Please.”

Ardyn slapped her again. A bit harder. It stung the bare flesh around the edge of her panties. She shivered in his hands. Before she could recover, he spanked her once more. Then again and again. Four times in rapid succession.

“There, now,” Ardyn said, catching his breath. He brushed some hair out of his eyes. “Good girls take what they’re given, Viola, my love.” 

Her panties were absolutely soaked. She knew she was already about to cum—her cock was rubbing against Ardyn’s knee every time he struck her. Not only that, his palm was striking her in such a way that she could feel in her needy hole. All the way inside. Pleasing her in a kind of teasing way, but it was so delicious. A unique touch. 

She wanted more.

“Y-yes…please, more…” She bent over a little farther. Offering her ass up to him. “I’ll be good…” 

A sound like a growl escaped Ardyn’s throat. He spanked her several more times. Grunting between each strike. 

“Let’s see…” While Viola wailed, Ardyn pulled down her panties in one swift movement and examined her red buttocks. Closely. Like a man with a magnifying glass. 

He massaged the sore flesh, grabbing handfuls of her ass whenever he could. In part teasing, in part punishing (it hurt to be grabbed when the skin was so sensitive), and in part worshipping. The way he loved her was everything all at once. 

“This…this delightful little bottom has driven me past my senses,” Ardyn drawled. “And you knew it would, didn’t you? That’s why you bustled your dress. To _distract_ me.” 

Viola nodded guiltily. It had seemed like such a marvelous idea at the time! But now, on the receiving end of Ardyn’s punishment, perhaps…

No, fuck it. She would do it all again in a heartbeat.

“Naughty…” 

Sparing no mercy, Ardyn slapped her bare backside. The sound of the slap went unmuted by cloth, and so it echoed across the room. As did Noctis’s harsh scream. 

“Don’t scream, Noct…” Ardyn whispered. “We’re in someone else’s house, you know. Anyone might walk in and find you like this…” 

He dragged his hand across Noctis’s ballsack. Touching only the base of the younger man’s cock. The flesh there was so unbelievably sensitive, especially from such a soft touch in contrast to the harsh spanking. Noctis whimpered and thrashed on Ardyn’s lap. He didn’t know what else to do with himself.

Yes it was true that anyone might discover them like this. Noctis with his balls out. Ass up. Getting the spanking of his life in the same room they’d all had tea that afternoon. 

And he didn’t even care. Let them see. Let them find out who Noctis belonged to—who Ardyn belonged to. Because if one thing was clear from all of this, Noctis and Ardyn were beholden to each other in a way that they could not explain to anyone else. 

Noctis might be the one getting spanked, but Ardyn was the one tied to the end of Noctis’s leash. He was powerless against the offer of the younger man’s ass, given to him on a silver platter. All the willpower he had culled over the years was not enough to refuse such a thing.

It would never be enough.

“Be a good girl and take the rest of what I have for you.” Ardyn spanked her again. Twice. He was putting more force behind the strikes. “Take what’s coming to you…” 

“I-I!” 

Noctis’s ass burned. His thighs hurt. His whole body hurt from staying in such an uncomfortable position for so long. But he was seconds away from cumming.One more slap _just like that_ and he would surely spend all over the front of his petticoat—

“I can take it, Ardyn! Give it to me!” 

“As you wish.” 

Sure enough, Ardyn delivered a series of harsh slaps—the hardest he had given so far. He did not pause between strikes, knowing that Noctis was very close to the edge. When he spanked him the last time, he hooked his finger into the younger man’s asshole. Entering him up to the first knuckle.

The sensation of penetration sent Noctis tumbling over the edge. He came hard, painting spend all over the inside of his petticoat. It ran down his legs. Ruining his stockings. Staining Ardyn’s trouser legs. Spilling onto the coarse haired carpet beneath their feet. He came in a long, wet rush. Emptying himself right where he lay. His teeth rattled around his skull and tears dripped down his chin. 

“My Viola…” Ardyn propped her up into a sitting position on his lap. “You’ve made such a mess of our host’s sitting room.”

“Nnnnh….” she replied. She was reeling from her orgasm. Still coming, by some standards, since the aftershocks were still going. She gripped Ardyn’s lapels andshook her hips. The friction of crinoline against her spending cock drove her higher.

Impassioned by the sight of her, Ardyn lifted her skirts again and brought her down hard on his cock. Entering her smoothly. Ratcheting up her pleasure so she was spilling again, immediately. If she had ever stopped. 

Ardyn bit her earlobe as he fucked her. Driving his hips upward as hard as he could. Plundering her as he’d been fantasizing about all evening. 

“Your cunt is mine,” he hissed in her ear. “It belongs to me.”

Noctis nodded in a daze. His eyes showed only the whites. “Y-yessss…! Yours…!” 

“How could I have thought anyone else capable of satisfying your needs…” Ardyn shook his head. Disappointed in himself for being such a fool. “You wouldn’t be happy with another man, would you? Not when your pussy is molded to my shape. It fits around me so perfectly… _exquisitely_ …mmmm…” 

His ramblings petered off and he focused on thrusting. It wasn’t long before Ardyn came as well, burying himself as deep inside Viola as he could. He held her tightly all the while. Refusing to let her go. As if relaxing his hold for even a moment might make her disappear. 

The world was hazy. Very wet. Warm, now that they were in each other’s arms and bodies. 

“I love you.” 

Noctis said it suddenly. Still recovering. Eyelids drooping. 

Ardyn swallowed when he heard it. There he was trying to catch his breath and Noctis had to go and say something like that. 

“I love you…” Noctis repeated. He stroked Ardyn’s sweaty face. “…do you love me?” 

The older man rested his head on Noctis’s shoulder. He was silent for several moments. Then he said, quietly, barely loud enough to be heard,

“If you know me, then you must know that I do.”

Noctis broke out into a smile. He hugged Ardyn’s head, clutching it to his chest like a favorite toy. 

“I know.”

Eventually it came time for them to gather their various discarded garments and leave. As Noctis strapped on his crinoline cage again, he turned to Ardyn and said, facetiously, “I bet you couldn’t get sex like that with Evelyn Beasly, could you?”

“Darling,” Ardyn began. He swiped more hair out of his eyes, shaking his head in utter bewilderment. “I doubt whether I could get sex like that anywhere else in this life or the next. Be it heaven or hell.” 

Noctis laughed. Pleased with that. 

“Yeah you’re probably right.”

______________________________________________________  
  


_On a train headed east_  
_12 February, 1857  
_ _Sunday - Morning_

The next day passed in a dreary haze. Ardyn and Noctis spent most of the time in their adjoining bedroom, sleeping and fucking each other senseless. They emerged to do some more hunting and a fair bit more riding. But largely they were recluses languishing in each other’s company alone.

After an awkward dinner and still another rather awkward breakfast, it was time for them to depart. The train ride to London would take most of Sunday. 

They bid farewell to the Renquists, thanking them for putting them up for the weekend (although they really should have been apologizing for leaving their rooms in such a horrid state, even though Ignis tried to clean as best he could). Molly invited Viola to one of her numerous garden parties at the start of the Season and Viola accepted. She and Evelyn shared a brief hug as they said their goodbyes. 

“Good luck,” Viola whispered in her ear.

“You too,” Evelyn returned. 

They would both need it.

When Viola said goodbye to Threshton, she pulled him in for an inappropriate hug. But propriety be damned, Threshton had been rather good to her. He helped her out when she was in a tight spot, unsure what to do with herself. And he had escorted her when Ardyn was not so inclined. So she owed him a good deal of thanks.

“You’re a good man, Daniel. Thank you for everything,” she whispered to him. “I wish you the best.”

“Yes, well…” The weight of his painful life was back upon him. “From your mouth to God’s ear, eh?” He smiled sadly.

Viola hugged him again. “If your wife can’t see how lucky she is to have you, then she’s a fool.”

“Oh…” It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to Threshton. He was at a loss for how to respond. 

Viola shrugged indifferently (perhaps unaware of the effect she had on him). “You don’t need her. There are plenty of ladies who would love a man like you.” She glanced pointedly over to Evelyn. “You may not have to look so far.” 

He followed her gaze, confused. He saw Evelyn climbing into the carriage with her parents. By the time he turned back around, Viola was gone.

And so. After a rather exciting series of events, Noctis and Ardyn were sitting alone together in their train cabin. Watching nature go by and knowing that this time he was headed in the other direction…well, it dampened Noctis’s spirits a bit.

But it was hard to be too sad after the kind of sex he’d been having the past few days. Knowing that he and Ardyn had agreed, under no uncertain terms, to be exclusive to each other. Had even (though less certainly) exchanged those fateful words (‘I love you’)…well, Noctis’s heart was like a caged bird flapping around heedlessly inside his chest. 

He wanted this moment to last forever. 

Ardyn looked sort of troubled. The shadow he’d been carrying around since the beginning of the trip was back. 

“What’s wrong?” Noctis asked. For once. 

Ardyn took a deep breath. He leaned his weight on his knees and clasped his hands together seriously. “I feel I…owe you some explanation, Noct. After everything that’s happened.”

Noctis shrugged and nodded, pretending to be casual about the whole thing. “Yeah. An explanation would be nice.” 

“Fair enough.” Straightening out, Ardyn clapped his hands and began. “You see, I…well, I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘dire straits.’ Although I doubt the son of Regis Caelum would know much about the reality of what that looks like.”

“Okay, okay,” Noctis huffed indignantly. He didn’t love being talked down to. …But yes, Ardyn was right. Noctis had lived in the Citadel his whole life. He couldn’t guess the first thing about what it felt like to have money problems. “I get the picture. So what?”

“Well, it so happens…” Ardyn was dancing around the point. Something he normally never did. “That I am unable to find any kind of legitimate work. Due to a small matter from quite a few years ago. But yes. Jobless and penniless, I am.”

“…Okay.” Noctis frowned. Was Ardyn going to say more about that?

“So! Be that as it may, I found myself in need of some steady income.” He gestured to the side awkwardly (it seemed he would only elaborate on certain things right now). “I devised a quick, relatively sound plan to acquire reliable means. You know Caligo, Mr. Ulldor?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well he and I are more than just acquaintances. And hardly master and servant, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. We’re…you might say business partners, I suppose?” 

Noctis bristled. “Go on…”

“Due to some…matters,” Ardyn paused grandiosely. “He and I spent a bit of time outside London. He agreed to return here with me under the condition that I could get us both a good deal of money. Since part of my plan required that I pass as a gentleman, Caligo would do well to play the part of the manservant. Lucky enough for me, he agreed.” Ardyn shrugged. “I suppose he thought my plan was sound enough too.” 

Noctis sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah, he had some idea where this was going.    
“Let me guess,” the young lord opined. “You planned to charm some poor defenseless girl out of her fortune?” 

Ardyn sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Finally he said, “….In so many words, yes.”

Right. A dastardly scheme. Noctis had expected this from the moment he stepped foot in Engheld House. Nothing entirely upright was going on in a place like that. He was hardly surprised. And he was already willing to brush all those extraneous facts under the rug.

Under some conditions. “Just tell me you weren’t planning on robbing someone?”

“No, no. Nothing so tawdry.” Ardyn waved his hand at the idea. “I only thought…I might put on the guise of a gentleman and make me way around the circuit. Looking for young—ish, youngish, mind—girls that were…amenable to charms such as I possess.” He folded his hands together. “Then I would follow the necessary steps to secure myself a wife. Either through the proper channels, through her family that is. Or, if she were a brow-beaten and romantic type…perhaps eloping or some such thing…”

“Yeah, so romantic.” Noctis looked at him. Thoroughly unamused. 

“Only if she liked!” Ardyn displayed his hands innocently. “At no point was there any kind of coercion in this plan, you understand? Just some…flights of fancy. A bit of ruse. But I aimed only to find a girl that could legitimately tolerate me. Since marriage is for life and all. Or at least until papers are signed and nuptials agreed. Et cetera.” He grinned lasciviously.

Noctis sighed. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Wow. What a foolproof plan. Can’t believe that one fell off the rails.”

“You wound me.” Ardyn touched his chest, feigning injury. “And I’ll have you know it was going quite well up until this past October.” 

Of course October meant only one thing. The day they met.

“When we first met in the park, Miss Gainsborough,” Ardyn drawled. “I had thought for a moment that the woman I might be able to woo out of a fair bit of fortune could be you. Then I discovered what marvelous conversation you made and I became determined.” He smiled. “Then, naturally…I found out your little secret. Lo and behold, by that time, I was already smitten enough to take you home for the evening. Six of one, as I said.”

“I remember.” Noctis knew he should have been offended that Ardyn had planned on swindling him. But instead…he was kind of charmed.

Damn. This was how Ardyn worked, wasn’t it. Fuck him for being so good at it!

“Just for the evening, I said to myself. Thought I had earned a night of genuine passion for once. A small break from the character I’d chosen.” Ardyn bounced his hand and sighed. “And we all know how that turned out.”

“Yeah I was there for the rest of it,” Noctis chimed in. “We started seeing each other.”

“Correct. I thought for a while that I could still keep to the plan and have you on the side. I continued making the rounds through gentlemen with daughters they were trying to marry off. That’s how I came to know the Beaslys, as a matter of fact. Patrick was rather keen on wedding Evelyn before the summer.” Ardyn pretended to bow. “I was happy to oblige.” 

“So…” The gears in Noctis’s head turned slowly. “The trip to Berkshire was part of your plan. You went there because you wanted a chance with Evelyn.” 

Appreciative of Noctis’s quick understanding, Ardyn nodded. “Also correct. And since you wanted to go as well, I thought perhaps it would give us a chance to…let bygones be bygones, so to speak? Meet new people?”

“Tch.” That was the part that pissed Noctis off. Ardyn had decided all this shit on his own, stringing Noctis along through the weave of his plotting. If he had even tried to explain all of this beforehand they could have avoided a lot of nonsense—

Then again, Noctis hadn’t thought to ask. He’d been ignoring the signs for a while before that. 

“But…” Ardyn rested his hand on Noctis’s knee. “Well, I could tell there was something…not quite in line with my predictions. On the way there I could already tell. I felt it in my gut.” He shook his head. “The heart wants what it wants, doesn’t it?”

“You mean…”

Ardyn sighed dramatically. “Must I spell it out for you?” He paused. “Fine. I couldn’t go through with it, Noct. Not one single bit of it. I was supposed to propose to Evelyn before the weekend was up. Perhaps we would have already slept together and I might have…persuaded her to my affections ahead of time. But none of that happened.” 

He raised his hands helplessly. “Instead I found myself entirely too preoccupied with you.” He flashed his teeth. “You got in my way, Miss Gainsborough. I could have had it all—steady funds, a pretty young girl in my bed, a good marriage, good family. A chance to put the past behind me once and for all. At last….

“If not for _you_.”

There might have been hatred in his voice. To an outsider at least. But Noctis knew that tone for what it was; Ardyn had given up his pursuit of an easy life in favor of fucking the daylights out of Noctis. Of _being_ with him. Sure, Ardyn might regret what he had given up. But his hand had been forced. 

He could not bear to see Noctis with another man. Could not drum up even courteous interest in Evelyn when it came down to it. His plan had fallen apart at the seams all because Noctis refused to let their relationship die. Fed into Ardyn’s fixation by saying ridiculous things like ‘love’ and…well.

There it was. 

Noctis liked it. He hiked his skirts, and straddled Ardyn’s lap. The older man grumbled happily, latching onto Noctis’s waist with both hands. Running his fingers along the outline of the corset underneath his bodice.

“And now?” Noctis leaned down and pecked Ardyn on the lips. “What about your plan now, sir?” 

Ardyn smiled. He eyed Viola once for pleasure’s sake. “I think I tossed the remaining scraps of my poor, doomed machinations in Blackwater River.”

“Good.” Noctis preened and kissed him on the mouth. A real kiss this time.

They snuggled for a few moments. Then Noctis asked, legitimately, “So, what will you do for money once we get back to London?” 

Ardyn shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. Before the month is out I’ll probably run out of money to pay Miss Highwind. And after that Caligo—what little I can afford to give the poor sod. So. I’m twisting in the wind, as they say, miss.” 

“Maybe you can like, you know…” Noctis shifted in his seat atop the man’s lap. “Get a real job? Something that pays? Instead of trying to cheat people out of their money…” 

“It’s not cheating if people _agree_ to hand their money over,” Ardyn noted. 

“Yeah. That’s how jobs work.” Not that Noctis would know. He’d never worked a day in his life. 

“Didn’t I mention?” Ardyn’s face hardened a bit. “It would be rather impossible for me to find work in London and still manage to keep my gentlemanly facade. So one must stay and the other must go.” He met Noctis’s gaze. “I’m open to your suggestions.” 

Noctis thought he understood well enough. Ardyn might be good with his hands—he was a decent shot, could probably work the rounds through any number of back alley rigs. Or even in day labor. But that would mean forgoing his ruse as a gentleman of good standing. Gentleman did not work with their hands. 

So there was really only one option. “I’ll…lend you some money, for now,” Noctis said awkwardly. Not quite sure how offering monetary support was supposed to work. “As much as you need. For Aranea and Caligo and Engheld. Just tell me how much, okay? Until you…get back on your feet.”

He hastily added that last part for Ardyn’s pride. Even though it was clear that Ardyn was not going to be independently wealthy for some time, if ever. Realistically, this plan could not go on for more than a few months before Regis started to suspect something.

But a few months was a few months. Noctis hadn’t seen to the end of this road yet and he didn’t know if he ever would. They were taking it one day at a time. Minutes, hours, days spent together. Those were the only things Noctis would take into consideration right now. Everything else they would have to face as it came.

“So what happened?” Noctis slid off Ardyn’s lap, back onto the seat cushion. “Why did you leave London?” 

“Mmm….” Ardyn trailed off. His lips were literally tight. They waited in silence for five whole minutes before Noctis realized this was a lost cause.

It seemed Ardyn was not ready to reveal everything yet. Only what he needed to. The grim story that lay underneath the surface would be harder to get out of him.

Noctis screwed up his mouth in thought. “Does it have anything to do with Delvyn Lucis?” 

Pain filtered across Ardyn’s face. His eyes went wide and then duplicitously narrow. His skin turned a pallid shade of greenish white. 

“…Don’t say that.” It was all Ardyn would allow. 

“…Okay.” Noctis laid his head on Ardyn’s shoulder. An offering of peace. He could tell there were some subjects out of bounds still. Nothing would come from pushing Ardyn too hard. 

He didn’t want to torture the older man. He just wanted some answers. Maybe patience was the best route (even if Noctis was generally terrible at waiting). For Ardyn, he would have to try. 

“But you’re not a gentleman, though?” Noctis asked, surreptitiously inhaling his lover’s intoxicating scent. “You never were?”

Ardyn was again silent for several minutes. Then, he finally said, “I was. Once.” 

With that, Ardyn buried his nose in Noctis’s hair and closed his eyes. He either went directly to sleep or was pretending (Noctis had to admit Ardyn could pull off a hell of a scam. He’d have to learn to tell the difference between his fakes and truths). But their conversation was over. 

Questions about the future aside, Noctis decided to take his happiness where he could. Who could say what would happen to them next? Nothing was certain except what they felt for each other.

In that, Noctis felt secure.

____________________________________________ 

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_12 February, 1857  
_ _Sunday - Night_

Later that night, after Noctis and Ignis returned to the Citadel and Aranea went back to the east end, Ardyn and Caligo sat in the living room drinking brandy. Damn but Engheld House was drafty. Especially this time of year. They were wrapped in blankets, huddled around an oil lamp they had decided to share between the two of them. 

Winter was such a lovely season, Ardyn thought bitterly. He hated it so. 

“…The Drummond, then?” Caligo asked out of nowhere. 

Time to tell the truth. Ardyn was not so ashamed of what he’d chosen, as much as he felt like a fool because he saw no feasible way out of all this. Nothing that would give them the gentleman’s life they had sought. 

“Afraid the Drummond’s gone dickey,” Ardyn answered curtly. “Proper bush’d, us, I’d say.” 

“Hnh.” Caligo didn’t seem surprised. “That Caelum cove?”

“Yeh.” 

Ardyn considered Noctis for a moment. At least Caligo knew the reason for their imminent demise. The fact that Ardyn had gotten his prick and his head—in equal measure, for once—caught up in some young boy’s heart. Though, was Noctis a boy? Was he more of a girl, on the inside at least? Ardyn couldn’t say. He liked Noctis both ways—the boy and the girl, Viola—so he didn’t care much. But it was a particular kind of problem. Not knowing where Noctis fell in the world of sex and gender.

He supposed Noctis would come to his own conclusions on the matter. Ardyn intended to be there with him through the entire process. A helping hand, perhaps. If Noctis needed. 

In fact he intended to be with Noctis always. There were not many versions of the future where Ardyn could see himself willingly separating from Noctis. Their little excursion had taught him that much. Noctis needed to be with him. That’s what they both needed. Ardyn’s beating heart had tried to tear him in twain when he saw Noctis on another man’s arm. He’d seen red and green and…all kinds of colors, really. The pain of feeling Noctis slip away from him was…not something any sane man would agree to. So together they would stay.

For now. Or…forever. One of those. 

Caligo nodded and sighed. Then he stood up to retire for the evening. “You owe me a hog.”

Ardyn had to laugh at that. Their old bet. Gambling on whether Ardyn could successfully pull off a racket like this—marrying for money, a greenhorn’s fare. And yet, Caligo bet wisely that Ardyn could not. Whatever. Not like either of them could pay up when they were in straits like this. 

“Yes. Let’s pretend I have a shilling first, shall we?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some reveals ^___^ When I started this fic, I wanted to work with the idea of how to translate Ardyn's Scourge affliction into a modern (well, not modern in this case, but non-fantasy) AU. Considering everything going on with him, I figured the best way would be PTSD. So he's dealing with that. As a heads up, it'll be an on-going thing moving forward.
> 
> Plenty of love to go around! And smut! And pretty dresses! Huzzah!


	9. The truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis has a whole life to carry on with. If he can manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faster update than usual (mid-winter break is a beautiful thing)! Enjoy guys :) :) 
> 
> Notes -  
> [More on the reforms that took place during the Victorian years](https://www.skuola.net/letteratura-inglese-1800-1900/victorian-reforms.html). Throughout the 1800s, there were various social reforms going on (most notably for women, laborers, and convicts). It raised some questions about the nature of the soul, so there’s a bit of that in here. As a heads up, lol.

**Chapter Nine: The truce**

_Kingston Upon Thames  
_ _26 February, 1857  
_ _Monday - Night_

The Season was due to start in mid-March. As always, the first real event would be an annual ball at the Eckhart’s palace-like estate in Belgravia. Dustin and Monica Eckhart were the most well-known socialites in London. Everyone who was anyone knew them. Lord Eckhart had served in the House of Lords for close to twenty years. His inimitably benevolent wife Monica ran charities year-round for children living in poverty. They had probably about as much money as the Queen Herself but they were classy about it. No lavish displays of wealth, no endless bounties and extravagant parties that lasted for days on end. Just one modest country manor in Hampshire, a county over which they held more sway than any other person, even those who resided there throughout the year.

Yes, Monica and Dustin Eckhart were the epitome of steadfast _noblesse oblige,_ the picture of proper restraint and duty. If ever Queen Victoria were to meet them, She would most likely pronounce them the highest role models of good, morally upright living within the noble class. If you talked to anyone on the streets of London, they would say the exact same thing. 

As such, the Eckharts more than earned the privilege to host one ostentatious affair per year. This was a ball that would last from evening until dawn the following day—a gay night of dancing, laughing, socializing, and of course romancing. The ball was the kick-off of every Season and nearly the entire _ton_ was invited. If you were invited, it was automatically assumed that you were going. After all, the Eckharts never disappointed! If for some reason you were unable to attend…the pity was yours. 

This was pretty much the one event of the Season Noctis actually looked forward to. He loved dancing! Even though he generally hated socializing, he didn’t mind doing it under the context of ball etiquette where you didn’t need to make too much conversation. In fact, Noctis was well known for being the perfect gentlemen at affairs like these. He danced with every young lady in attendance—never left a single girl out of the fray. He made sure to check for wallflowers like a proper man always should. And yeah, it had gotten him laid plenty of times (okay, once, but between him and Prompto that was a lot). 

So, obviously, Noctis planned on going to the Eckhart’s ball again this year. He’d already gotten his invitation a week ago. 

Regis was invited as well, but the old man would only announce that he was ‘making an appearance,’ which meant that he would most certainly not be going. Balls were not Regis’s cup of tea. He wasn’t much of a dancer and he found the raucousness of those affairs too taxing. So, as they had done nearly every year before that, Noctis would go and give Regis’s regards to Dustin and Monica in his father’s stead. Not that it really mattered. Dustin and Monica would be extraordinarily busy over the course of the evening, they might not remember if Noctis “officially” gave regards or not. Even if he didn’t, they’d probably still recall that he had, only because it had happened so many other times before. 

Noctis didn’t care about any of that. He just wanted to have fun.

Really, there was only one question in his mind: Would he attend the ball as Noctis or as Viola? 

There he had a real dilemma. On the one hand, everyone would be expecting Noctis Caelum. He knew how to act the gentleman; it was a remarkably easy role for him. He’d be able to please his father (who would no doubt want him to socialize, especially with Luna, at such an affair) and appear as the proper member of society he would one day need to become. The young lord who was rapidly coming upon his time to take up his father’s mantle.

But. On the other hand…to go as Viola…it made Noctis shiver in excitement. To wear an expensive, beautiful dress and spend the entire night dancing with people who wouldn’t remember his name in the morning. To be escorted by Ardyn—because Ardyn had already gotten his invitation at around the same time Noctis did. So, if he went as Viola they could go together. 

It would be like a debut. Not a real debut, of course, because in this fantasy Viola would already have been debuted at some point in order to attend functions without a chaperone. But. For Noctis, who had obviously never had a young lady’s proper coming out ceremony, it might very well feel the same way. A night out in London society where he felt free and right and pretty—dancing in front of everyone he knew, only clothed as the young woman he wanted to be! 

He could hear the sound of the waltz in his head, playing and playing. Skirts flapping around his legs as he kicked up his heels and swayed to the measured tempo of the violins…locking eyes with Ardyn, feeling the older man’s hands around his waist. Magic crackling in the space between them. He’d get to see that delicious look of jealousy on Ardyn’s face every time Viola danced with another man (and she’d have to dance with everyone, of course, it would be rude not to)—

“Mmm, Noct, cease your wriggling.” 

“Oh, sorry.” 

Naturally, at this hour of the night, Noctis was in bed with Ardyn. They’d already had sex, now it was time to steal few hours of sleep before Noctis needed to return to the Citadel. Sidled up next to Ardyn’s warm, slick, naked body was Noctis’s favorite place to be. But he couldn’t sleep because thinking about the ball. 

He turned on his side to look over at Ardyn. His lover had his face buried in the pillow, full back exposed. Like this, Noctis could see the anchor tattoo peeking out from underneath the splash of crimson hair draped across his shoulders. There were also a few other marks on Ardyn, including a myriad of scars. Curious scars. Long, thin, and pale in some places, strangely dark and thick in others. Cylindrical, as wide as his wrist. Noctis did not know what could have made scars like that. 

One of these days he would work up the nerve to ask. Tonight was not that night. 

As it was, their evening was almost finished and Noctis didn’t want to ruin the mood with questions that would definitely get Ardyn’s walls up. So instead, Noctis wrapped his arms around his lover, laying his head between Ardyn’s shoulder’s blades with a tender kiss.

“Mmmm…” Ardyn sleepily replied to the affection. His breathing was even and calm. Noctis loved him like this—pliable, dead to the world and defenseless. 

“Hey, umm…” Curling his leg around Ardyn’s waist, claiming him like an octopus, Noctis buried his nose in the tangled hair around Ardyn’s neck. He surreptitiously kissed the esoteric anchor. “…you’re invited to the Eckhart’s ball that’s coming up, right? I think it’s on the 23rd?"

“Hmm?” Ardyn rolled his head free of the pillow. “Eckhart’s…? Oh yes, the ball. Of course I’m invited.” He huffed, eyes still closed.

Noctis choked back a giggle. ‘Of course’ Ardyn was invited. Because he was such a fine upstanding member of high society and all. Idiot.

“Okay. You gonna go?” 

Giving up on sleep, Ardyn cracked one eye open. “I don’t have a proper tailcoat at the moment. But…” He turned in Noctis’s arms, folding the younger man into his embrace. “…if my expendable funding situation were to improve anytime soon, then perhaps…”

Noctis chuckled. He caught the hint loud and clear. “Sure. I’ll buy you one.” Honestly he’d been planning on doing that already (the tailcoat Ardyn wore at Steyliff had been borrowed from Ignis’s emergency supply, and it was hardly bespoke). 

“Thank you, darling.” Purring like a content cat, Ardyn combed his fingers through Noctis’s hair. 

In this position Noctis had a mouthful of the older man’s sweaty chest. Unable to hold back, he kissed the rim of the black sun he knew so well. Ardyn’s skin was salty and damp. Noctis hoped the smell of him lingered on his own skin for the rest of the day. It sometimes did. 

“Do you, umm…” They were tangled together, making Noctis feel like perhaps anything—any crazy, miraculous, barely conceivable thing—were possible. “…want to go together?” 

Ardyn’s breathing stopped for a moment. Then he followed up smoothly, “…Viola and I?”

“Yeah."

There were only a few scant seconds of silence before Ardyn answered. “My, my. Are you courting me, Miss Gainsborough? Asking me to escort you to the ball?”

Viola preened. She lifted her head and drawled, “You might say that.” 

Ardyn looked at her with such intense satisfaction in his eyes. His stubble was thicker than usual right then because the day had been long. When his mouth curled into a lewd, triumphant grin, it was almost hidden by the sparse hair.

“Well. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He thumbed the creases near Viola’s eyes. Completely sincere. 

She kissed his wrist in return. “So…can I rely on you to escort me, sir?”

“Naturally.” 

They decided to forego their parting for a few moments as they twisted around in the sheets. Just a little longer. 

——————-

The following morning they broke the news to Aranea that Viola would be in need of proper ball attire and everything that entailed. Now that Noctis was essentially pay-rolling the entire Engheld estate (only Ardyn and his two servants), Aranea came round once a day. She had a much more suitable salary, at least as much as a proper lady’s maid. Technically Aranea performed the duties of a lady’s maid, cook, and housekeeper all at once. As such, their meals had substantially improved overall. Before that, the best Caligo had managed to do was make sure to put the tea kettle on twice a day. Ardyn’s handiwork consisted entirely of seared steaks and sandwiches. 

Noctis didn’t mind staying for breakfast anymore. He actually preferred it to the long awkward meals he had with Regis, which were starting to creep into torture territory lately. 

“I see, miss.” Aranea said with a smirk as she set down plates of sausages and eggs for them. “Well, that should be no trouble. Granted we can go shopping for the right gown. If we have enough time, maybe we’ll go to the seamstress for some measurements and a nice pattern…” 

“How long does it usually take to have a gown done?” Noctis asked eagerly. Might he actually be getting a tailor-made dress?! The idea was almost too good to be true!

When Aranea found out the ball was in three weeks, she sadly informed him there would not be enough time for a custom order. That was disappointing but fair. Most wealthy Londoners bought their gowns for the Season during the autumn before—from France, usually, to procure the latest fashions. 

So, Viola would be stuck with a hand-me-down dress once again. Not that Noctis particularly minded the store bought dresses he found in Harrod’s and the little boutiques in Knightsbridge. But someday it would be nice to have a dress made especially for him, like all comfortable, established ladies had…

“Don’t worry, miss,” Aranea added with a wink when she saw the downtrodden look on her mistress’s face. “We’ll go to that boutique on Hanover Street—you know, the one that had the lace gloves you liked so much.”

Noctis remembered those gloves quite well, in fact. The flowery designs…his eyes widened as he imagined buying a pair just like that to go with a new evening dress. Delicate and cute, those gloves were so lovely…oh, this was going to be fun, shopping around!

“And you, sir,” Aranea continued, nodding in Ardyn’s direction. “Need to speak to your valet. No way Specs is gonna let you go to the Eckhart’s looking like whatever shit I stepped in over at St. Giles last week.” 

Ardyn took a sip of his tea without comment. He relished the taste, then smiled up at his housekeeper. “…Am I really that bad, Miss Highwind? I mean, St. Giles?”

She gave him a withering look. “Just talk to Ignis.” Then she said something under her breath that they couldn’t quite make out.

“What’s that about his legs?” Noctis shot back, ears up. 

Aranea sighed, busying herself with wiping the counter. “That, uh, valet of yours…” She shook her head in disbelief. “…he gets around doesn’t he?”

“Ignis? Yeah.” Noctis took a cheerful bite of toast. “Iggy moves pretty fast. Always has.”

“Really? That valet?” Ardyn raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t pegged Ignis for the type to sleep around. But then, everyone in London was so full of surprises! Hardly fair to assume anything about a person’s sex life. 

“I mean…” Aranea shrugged. “I’m not saying it as an insult. I’m just kind of…impressed? Like, that guy slept with at least two people in the Berks. Far as I heard.” 

Two? Even Noctis was surprised by that. Yes Ignis wasted no time jumping into the sack—“Sex is hardly something that needs to be agonized over. All pleasure is fleeting, but rewarding in its own way,” or so the man said whenever someone asked him about his indiscriminate tastes. Still! Two people in barely three days! 

Damn, Ignis. Noctis smiled. He felt a little less guilty about making his friend clean up after him and Ardyn now that he knew Ignis found a way to get his own rocks off while they were there. “Casual sex is a fine way to relieve stress, as long as one takes proper precautions,” he claimed. Everyone had something, right? Ignis deserved to let his hair down once and while. Well, his hair and…other things, too. Noctis knew ever since they were kids that Ignis had a distinct preference for men. Specifically bigger men, with an attitude problem. And tattoos. (Yeah, Gladiolus. He and Ignis had been on and off together for years. But it was never serious.) Noctis did his best to cover Ignis’s tracks when he could, even if that meant lying to other people about what he knew of Ignis’s love life. Noctis had done all that before and he always would.

That’s the kind of thing brothers did for each other. They didn’t even really need to talk about it. Especially when you laid that against everything Ignis had done for Noctis over the years…hell, it would never be equal. No way.

Ardyn was secretly thrilled to learn this new piece of information about the valet. He liked the man on principle; Ignis was the kind of sharp-eyed bastard you needed to watch your back around. Those hazel eyes saw quite a bit, and Ignis probably wouldn’t be opposed to getting his hands dirty if necessary. Ardyn could respect that! As long as he kept one eye on the razor hidden in Ignis’s livery, the two of them would get on just fine. 

“Bring him around again, then,” Ardyn intoned amicably, stuffing some sausage into his mouth. “Let’s see what your valet can do with my sorry old bag of bones, hmm?” 

He spread his arms wide. As if issuing a challenge.

Noctis sipped his tea and smiled. He made quick eye contact with Aranea, who caught the look and shared it with him. 

In all likelihood, Ardyn would not enjoy the kind of….adjustments Ignis had in store for him. This was a ball, after all. Something a gentleman must not take lightly. A man’s pride—indeed his whole reputation—hinged upon his appearance at such events. 

Luckily, Ignis knew what he was doing. 

___________________________________________

_Chiswick  
_ _27 February, 1857  
_ _Tuesday - Midday_

There was only so much mandatory time with his father Noctis could avoid. These days—with the start of the Season looming closer and closer—Regis had begun to take his lunches at home, away from the House of Lords, just to spend time with his son. Unbeknownst to him, Noctis had been trying to sleep in at Engheld more and more so that he would miss breakfast…but it seemed there was no escape of certain obligations.

Regis was more determined than ever before to have some kind of ‘relationship’ with him. And by ‘relationship,’ he pretty much wanted to converse with Noctis on a regular basis so that he could keep tabs on how his son’s courtship was going. They hardly talked of anything else.

It wasn’t as if Regis knew the first thing about how Noctis actually spent his time. He hadn’t even asked about his son’s fictitious trip to Oxford, just greeted his return with a courteous smile and a nod. Instead Regis asked—constantly, in that polite, soft-spoken way he had, what events Noctis was planning on attending. Trying to nail down his son’s social calendar so that he could work out the details of who Noctis might ‘run into’ at such events.

Today they were sitting down to tea on the veranda. Noctis really wasn’t interested in the sandwiches stacked in front of them (they were water cress and cucumber with thinly sliced ham. Noctis only really had a stomach for thick cut meat between hearty bread these days, for whatever reason). So he instead picked up the newspaper.

Typical affairs, mostly. More on Crimea, on diplomacy with Russia and the Ottoman Empire. A ton about the recent Reform laws some outspoken writers and politicians were trying to enforce. Reform for women, reform in the way they harvested crops (specifically corn), reform for criminals. 

Noctis read about the laws with growing interest. He’d never much cared before, but lately he’d met and conversed with people from situations he’d never fully considered until now. People like Aranea, born in the rookeries, constantly fighting against her beginnings. Evelyn too, helplessly caught in the trappings of her family’s expectations. The servants—like Ignis and Ulldor—who supported him being Viola far more than anyone else even close to him in station. Noctis wondered who represented people like them in the House of Commons. The people without a voice. 

Farmers and laborers had their trade unions. Women furiously wrote novels and pamphlets. They scribbled out radical notions, renderings of their own souls—the smothered, intellectual screams of people who had been told to be silent for too long. Then they distributed their writing out into the world to whomever might listen (like Wollstonecraft, for example). A pen was a woman’s sword. As for convicts? Who would speak for them? Only the most sanctimonious Christian folks even acknowledged that criminals had souls like everyone else. When a criminal was hanged, no one said “God rest his soul.” They said, “Good riddance.” 

Souls…Noctis flexed his hand over the newspaper. Did he have a soul? Was it something you could feel? He didn’t think he’d ever felt his own soul before. But he’d come very close to dying once. 

Did Aulea have a soul? Was she in a better place now? 

Noctis tried to imagine what paradise for his mother might look like. The forest? A wide open field? A horse ranch, maybe in America or someplace? Or was Aulea happier in the parlor rooms and dining halls of London? Had she been torn between two worlds, the same way her child was now? 

These questions were really too big for him to consider. Still. The more he thought about Aulea—and he thought about her quite frequently now—the more Noctis felt that his mother may have indeed been torn. Was she happy in London? With Regis, with Noctis? He wished so badly that he knew more about her. That his father might someday tell him stories of Aulea, who she was, what made her happy…

Mind wandering, Noctis’s eyes slid over to Regis. Regis was staring out over the open acres behind their estate. His grey eyes were working something out, flicking between the trees with cold precision. He probably wasn’t thinking about Aulea. It was certainly something to do with the House of Lords, some matter…or maybe even the estate finances. 

As if feeling his son’s eyes on him, Regis turned his head in Noctis’s direction. He offered up another placid smile. 

“Something on your mind, son?” the old man asked. 

Noctis shook his head. Even though there was quite a bit on his mind. Questions he’d wondered for years rising into a slow boil. Recent discoveries that he wanted to tell Regis (‘Dad, I don’t know if I’m who you think I am anymore. I might be a…wom…’). Except those things were impossible. He’d never—even if you gave him a hundred years—work up the courage to explain to Regis about Viola. About Ardyn. Any of it. He’d die of shame! The look Regis gave him in return would certainly be fatal. 

He couldn’t even imagine it.

Although, maybe eventually… Underneath all the fear and shame, a small part of Noctis held out hope that maybe his father would understand. Or would try to. This was a remnant of the four-year-old Noctis that deeply loved his father. The one who always secretly prayed that Regis might suddenly decide to give him a piece of the same affection he used to give. A sincere smile, a hug. A fleeting look of pride. Things Noctis had not gotten from Regis since he was a young child. 

Regis bounced his grizzled eyebrows. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

For a second, Noctis’s heart leapt. Did Regis _know_? Was he about to tell Noctis that he’d known about Viola all along? Was this the moment when Regis told Noctis that everything was alright? That he forgave him, the he loved Noctis no matter who he was—

Regis’s smile widened and he continued. “For a young man to be so empty-headed before the start of the Season is almost unheard of. Aren’t you thinking about your prospects, Noct?” 

In spite of everything—yeah, no shit, Regis was thinking about Noctis’s social calendar again, of _course_ —Noctis’s face fell. Damn. He needed to get his head out of his ass. Start playing Regis’s game, the smart way. Agree to some of the events Regis wanted and then fuck off with Ardyn whenever he had the chance. The way he’d planned from the beginning! 

Stupid to fill his head with anything else.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it, Dad,” Noctis answered. Trying to dismiss the conversation.

“Hmm.” Regis’s eyes twinkled. He thought he was being clever again. “Well then, it might interest you to know that Lady Lunafreya has responded to an invitation at White Hall this Friday evening.” 

White Hall. An upper class parlor in the heart of the city where people went to drink together and spread gossip about each other. They were an exclusive kind of club, you had to be invited to attend. He and Prompto had been there a few times. 

Noctis thought it was one of the most boring places on the planet. Only old fogies hung out at White’s, and young people who were dragged by their parents. Of course, Regis thought it was the most fashionable place to make an appearance. Conversation was always polite and stayed within standard expectations. Maybe Luna liked it there too. Socializing was easier if you knew what you could and couldn’t say. 

But it was exactly the kind of thing that made Noctis want to bash his head against the table in boredom.

“That’s, uh…” Noctis picked his nails under the table. The only act of rebellion he could manage at a time like this. “…good for her, I guess. Sounds um. You know, fun.” 

“Fun?” Regis’s eyebrows twitched. He paused. “I suppose some of the camaraderie in White’s is pleasant enough. Plenty of the gents there are a good laugh.” 

That wasn’t true, but whatever. 

“More importantly,” Regis went on. “Lunafreya will be without her aunt. Only her brother Ravus shall be in attendance, and I’m certain he might want to entertain a few of his own…prospects. If what I hear is correct, that is.” 

Ravus hitting on girls. Actually, Noctis wanted to see that. What was that like—a fish trying to breathe on land? Hell maybe White’s _was_ good for a laugh now and then…

But Noctis kept those mean-spirited thoughts to himself.

“Noct, this would be a perfect occasion for you to get some personal time with Lady Lunafreya.” Regis was leaning forward in his seat. Alight with excitement. 

So that was the angle. An evening at White’s for Noctis and Luna to get closer to each other. As if becoming better acquainted might hasten their desire for a marriage proposal. Spur Noctis into the right mood. Heaven knew he could pop the question at any time and Regis would support him. For all he knew, Regis and Meryl had already arranged a wedding for them or some shit.

All those lovely thoughts aside, Noctis would rather walk naked into the Thams than spend his Friday night trying to finagle Luna’s attention in White Hall. He wanted to go shopping with Aranea, first and foremost, and then he wanted to roll around in bed with Ardyn. Cuddle for warmth in the cold boughs of Engheld…

“Yeah, I…” Noctis screwed up his face, trying to think of the best way to say this. “…think I already made plans for Friday, Dad.” 

Centimeter by centimeter, Regis’s face changed. His polite smile fell a fraction. More of a tight-lipped fixture at this point than any kind of wholesome expression. His eyes were steely. The nascent wrinkles around his face cast uneven lines and shadows here and there. 

“Oh.” Regis folded his hands on the table. His beard masked whatever was left of his smile. “What plans are those?” 

“Umm…” Noctis knew this face. Regis was about to put his foot down. Once his father did that, there would be no way out. “…I think me and Prompto were going to hang out…” 

“Ah.” Regis took a small swig of tea, letting the moment linger. When he swallowed, he said, “Except that would be quite impossible because Master Argentum also received an invitation to go to White Hall on Friday. And he accepted forthwith.”

His father set the tea cup down in its saucer with nary a sound. “So try again.” 

Alright. Regis wasn’t going to budge on this one. They’d been in this kind of situation before. Most of the time, Regis let Noctis do as he would. But there were certain occasions when his father’s stubbornness reared its head like a dragon. When that happened, nothing Noctis said mattered. Regis would call him out on his lies—for once—and refuse to be deterred. 

It seemed this evening at White Hall, whatever the hell it meant, was one of those times. 

So, then. Noctis felt his own powerlessness wind around him like ropes. Holding him in place. Bound and tethered. He wanted to scream…but it would have accomplished nothing. Regis never lost his cool. He’d just let Noctis scream and refuse to budge, probably still sipping tea. Like a gentleman. 

Fine.

Sighing, Noctis tucked some hair behind his ear. “Oh, yeah, you’re right I forgot. Guess we were headed to White’s anyway.” A poor lie, but the only chance left to salvage Noctis’s pride.

“Yes."

Regis looked back out onto the grounds. Effectively ending their conversation. 

Saying nothing, Noctis pulled out his chair and walked away from the table. He was pissed beyond reckoning—having to cancel his shopping plans to spend a horrid evening at White’s trying to wear the mask his father made for him—and he just wanted to be alone, lock everything out for a while. Maybe he’d go for a ride and try to pretend he was back in the Berks. 

“Oh and Noct?” Regis called to him just before he left the veranda. “You might ask Ignis to give you a haircut before Friday. It’s March, after all.” 

Nope. _That_ wasn’t going to happen! Especially not so close to the ball. Noctis would just tie his shoulder-length hair into a tight bun and hide it under his top hat like he always did when he went out as Noctis Caelum. Nothing Regis could do to stop that.

He left without another word to his father.

_____________________________________

_White Hall  
_ _2 March, 1857  
_ _Friday - Evening_

The sloe gin in Noctis’s glass looked a touch lighter than it should have. Normally sloe gin was supposed to be a light brown or reddish color, the berries giving it that tart taste. Yeah, it was a drink meant for ladies, but Noctis liked it. The sweetness cut the taste of alcohol a good deal, but it still settled heavily in his stomach in all the right ways. Gave you a kind of fast, hard buzz that went straight to your head. 

Exactly the kind of thing Noctis wanted tonight. He was already on his third glass.

All the familiar faces were in attendance at White Hall on that Friday. There was the Baron and Baronness he’d gone to luncheon with a few months back. A gaggle of sandy-haired gentleman hailing from the Tummult clan stood along the wall, eyeing everyone with far too much intensity (as was their peculiar way). Older gentleman sat around small tables drinking port. A few younger fellows were in the corner trying to get a game of cards going. Prompto was mixed in with that bunch (he and Prompto made eye contact and nodded at each other once at the beginning of the evening, but that was all. They hadn’t spoken since Noctis’s horrible comments at the new year’s party. Oh well). The handful of women in attendance were each accompanied by a gentleman. You had to be a woman of superior social standing to even get an invite. 

Noctis supposed he should be happy for Luna that she’d even gotten an invitation to a place like this. As a foreigner and all. Unless that too had been part of Regis’s scheming; maybe he’d managed to secure an invitation for her just to arrange this new meeting between her and Noctis. It was a move straight of the older man’s playbook. He so would.

Luna was sitting at a small table with two other gentlemen. Ravus was already off talking to the Tummults (so much for his “prospects;” maybe Regis had meant business prospects rather than marriage prospects). So she was functionally alone. But, as usual, Luna sparkled primly under the attention of everyone she encountered. She was wearing a soft, mint green evening dress that exposed both her shoulders. To compensate for this, she sported a silk shawl around her arms that dangled delicately on her elbows. Barely noticeable. There just in case she got a shiver. And for show. 

She looked beautiful, naturally. It did not take much for Luna to be positively stunning. Her only accessory was a diamond, crescent moon pendant that hung from a lovely silver chain wrapped twice around her throat. She was downplaying her effortless allure with only one plain necklace. The charming, mystical light behind her eyes was more than enough of a compliment to her outfit.

Noctis thought she looked marvelous. Not many people could pull off a green dress without seeming pallid, but there Luna was. Pulling it off effortlessly. Her pale skin did not appear sickly, instead it was creamier than ever. 

Although Luna’s dress was not Noctis’s favorite in the room—there was a young woman on Loqi’s arm wearing a mauve dress with tulle lining the flounces in front, Noctis liked that one best because anyone could manage to look chic and cute in such a style—Luna was certainly the best looking woman in White’s that night.

She had gotten comfortable in London. Noctis could clearly see that from across the room. In many ways, Luna looked less like the girl he knew in his youth. She was becoming a young metropolitan woman. No doubt the men around that table had some notions about courting her—what man wouldn’t? Noctis couldn’t blame them for looking at Luna with The Eyes. Their knees clacked together under the table, a clear sign of attraction and nerves. Maybe they were already hard in their breeches, who could say. Luna’s neckline plunged ever so appealingly; if you were a man enthralled by a good pair of tits, this was no sight to miss. 

Still though. Luna’s hair. Why was it pulled back so tightly? Her lady’s maid must be blind! Every single other young women in the room had loose curls or softly looped plaits. Luna was the only one with an old fashioned bun pinned tightly to her scalp in the back, no flowery adornments. Only a girl with coarse, unmanageable hair wore a style like that! Luna had gorgeous soft blonde locks. She needed to show it off! 

Noctis sighed and shook his head. What a huge waste. He wished he had hair like Luna’s. Taking another sip of gin, Noctis imagined three separate looks he could manage with hair as lovely as Luna’s. So many options. Instead he had this pin-straight, shoulder-length bob. But. It was still growing. Three more weeks and who knew what Aranea might be able to do with it….

Three more weeks until the ball, closer to two. Trying to keep the salient idea of the Eckhart’s ball (a huge evening gown, being escorted on Ardyn’s arm, dancing the night away) in his head, Noctis downed the rest of his drink and decided it was time to make his introductions.

_Get it over with. Just focus on talking to Luna. She’s always easy to talk to…_

If there was one good part in all this, it was the fact that Regis had chosen Luna to be Noctis’s potential bride. Luna was so nice, fun to talk to. Noctis didn’t know if he would have managed to make it this far if Regis chose someone unbearable. 

“Hey, Luna. How are you tonight?” 

“Oh, Noctis!” Luna smiled at him warmly, as if she was surprised to see him there. “Good evening! I’m doing quite well, thank you. And you?” 

She immediately made space for him at the table. The other two gentleman seems put out by his presence, they gave him cursory greetings but nothing too welcoming. Not even an exchange of names. Luna had to introduce them both; a guy named Something Ridley and a guy named Something…er…something. That last gulp of gin made Noctis’s head feel fuzzy. Every time he moved his eyes, a tiny afterimage followed. 

So, he was a little tipsy. Thank god! He had to survive this painful charade somehow. Sitting there playing the part of a guy who wanted to court Luna, dressed like a guy who wanted to court Luna…when in reality…Noctis didn’t want anything like that.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Caelum,” Ridley said slowly, shaking Noctis’s hand without much enthusiasm. “I must say I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” 

The other guy choked on a snort, pretending he just couldn’t hold back a laugh at such a tongue-in-cheek joke.

Oh. So that’s how this night was going to go. They would just make snide comments about Noctis’s reputation until they either ran out of material, or until the sun came up. Whichever happened first. 

Right.

Refusing to reply, Noctis got the attention of one of the servants. He asked for another gin. Dry gin, this time. Why the hell not. 

“All good things, I’m sure,” Luna followed up for him. “Noctis and I were friends during my childhood in France. In fact, Noctis was something of a celebrity near the village where I grew up. They quite adored him.”

She said it with a hint of pride. Noctis normally would have been happy to have her support—he was happy that Luna still thought of him that way, no matter what kind of gossip she must have heard—except…for young men engaged in a battle of oneupmanship, such a statement only gave the other side more ammunition. A village in France. Guys didn’t give a shit about stuff like that. 

“Is that so?” Ridley went on. “Well, I can believe that. Tell me, is it a style in your village for blokes to wear their hair like a traveling monk?” 

Making fun of his hair now; the tight, unfashionable bun pinned up in the back. (The staff hadn’t allowed Noctis to wear his top hat indoors at White’s, so.) It wasn’t really monkish, but…yeah, alright. That was a good jab.

Luna sputtered, unsure how to take such a comment. Luckily at that moment the servant returned with a stout glass of gin. Noctis took another gulp before engaging in whatever kind of battle this might turn out to be. 

“Quite so, I think,” the other guy snorted. Playing off Ridley’s hand. “Maybe it’s also in style to forget how to ride a horse. Running through the middle of town like you’re King Arthur himself.”

Well, the story of that time on Rotten Row was out. Yet another black mark against him. It was to be expected, no one ran their horse at full speed in Hyde Park the way Noctis had. Plus he’d ruined three ladies’ outfits, so. Maybe he deserved that. Besides, that one Luna had been there for. So she knew what they were referring to.

The consolation there was the fact that none of them had any idea the worst of what Noctis had done in the park that day. If they did, well. Noctis would probably be in jail at that very moment. Small consolation, but still.

The two young men continued snickering to each other. Noctis turned back towards Luna. Some redness tinted her cheeks. She must have been embarrassed on his behalf.

Noctis would always adore Luna for that trait. Taking on the wounds of others. In this case though, Noctis couldn’t care less what kinds of things those two small-minded idiots threw at him. He’d heard it all (or most of it) before. Luna didn’t need to get all worked up just because of him. More than being insulted by what they’d said, Noctis was pissed that they were upsetting Luna. 

He decided to play off the whole thing with a joke. “Yeah. I always thought King Arthur had class, you know?”

“Yes, those were the good days, Noctis. The days when people had class.” Luna’s lips were tight and her brow was set. 

It occurred to Noctis for the first time that Luna was _not_ embarrassed—she was furious! He’d never seen her so angry before. A kind of righteous disgust. Clearly she had no tolerance for bullying, even when the victims was a lout like Noctis, who had hardly any reputation to speak of besides what he was entitled from his last name. 

She was so special. Mellowed by the gin, Noctis gave her a small smile. Really, Luna was far too good for this world. The world just did not deserve her. 

Ignoring the other two—who shrank back when they saw Luna’s displeasure—Noctis turned to her and asked, “So how are you enjoying London so far? Been here a few months. Sure you know your way around by now.”

He meant it to be a compliment. Thankfully Luna recognized that. She nodded brightly. “I’m finding it to be a lovely experience! There are so many people here. I’ve made quite a few wonderful acquaintances. Learned a lot.” 

Noctis was interested in hearing more about that, actually. He wanted to know what a girl from the French countryside could learn about the world from spending time in London. Who had she met?

Unfortunately, before he could ask what she meant, Ridley spoke up again. “Yes, I’ve heard people say that London itself is a kind of education.” He was trying to seem knowledgeable on the subject. He went on for a while about the differences he’d found between cultures on the continent and the way of life in Britain. Naturally he found Britain to be much more civilized. 

How boring. Noctis took another big sip of gin. He could still hear Ridley’s voice, so he decided to have another. Anything to help drown out that pedantic, ignorant opinion. If he tuned out Ridley, he could just focus on Luna. That was for the best…

He couldn’t hack it though. Ridley’s grating voice was the only thing he could hear. His eyes and ears were being a bit unruly (in that, the gin was not helping). 

Noctis hated that he was the same type of thing as Ridley. That this man was the standard—the thing everyone wanted him to be. Ridley would probably go on to have a fabulous wife and family. To be an upstanding member of society. If he mentioned Ridley’s name to Regis, no doubt his father would say he was a fine example of a young man. This was the end goal of being a British gentleman: A good-looking man with nice clothes, reliable connections, a firm understanding of the rules and how all the games were played. Was Ridley a Lord’s son? Probably. Nearly everyone in White Hall was. 

It made Noctis feel dirty. He suddenly wanted to take a shower. Even then, he knew it would not cleanse the feeling he had deep down. The feeling that this was so very wrong. So pointless. Why were they sitting talking about how wonderful they had it when there was a whole world of people out there with different experiences? Ridley, as a man of privilege, had a great life. But Noctis didn’t care about Ridley’s life! He wanted to hear from Luna, what she’d come to understand. 

He wished this were a dinner party. Then all the women could go retire to the withdrawing room and entertain themselves. Noctis was tired of listening to over-educated boys drawl on about their opinions. He wanted to sit around the fireplace with the other women and partake in their swallowable chatter. What their families were like. What they were hoping for the upcoming Season. He wanted to know where the woman in the mauve dress bought her gloves. Yet, as a gentleman, Noctis would not be able to join the women, would he? He’d have to go to the smoking room and listen to this bullshit all over again… 

Ah, fuck. A wave of realization and deep sadness washed over him. He downed some more gin. By now, his fourth glass was nearly empty. The tips of his fingers and his forehead were numb, but Noctis could still feel the grime stuck inside him. The weird sense of hopelessness. 

This was his future, wasn’t it? Forever this. The road that had been laid down for him…the road that did not include Ardyn or Viola or any kind of joy…the end.

No. No no no. Noctis shook his head (forgetting that he was not alone). He wouldn’t let this be his future. People like Ridley, like everyone in that room droning on and on. Noctis would slowly become exactly like them so that he could survive in Society. But how could he stand it? It was like…dying! 

Maybe he did have a soul. Because he thought he could feel it being crushed.

The next gulp of gin was more or less what pushed him over the threshold between tipsy and drunk. When Noctis drained the rest of his glass, he felt his head spinning. At last, proper numbness. He knew it would only last for a few moments but these were the moments he craved.

Unfocused, seeing nearly double every time he moved his head, Noctis turned blithely to Luna. She was listening to something the other guy was saying. Politely waiting her turn to speak. Noctis had lost the entire thread of the conversation but he knew he wasn’t missing anything. He wished Luna had gotten a chance to speak more, instead of just waiting for them to finish.

He also really wished her lady’s maid would do her hair better. Like, seriously. Blonde hair like that should never be so tightly bound. There was a chance she might turn her head too fast and appear bald! Horrendous for a lady as pretty as Luna. 

“Ah man, it’s a shame…” 

The conversation around him stopped. Noctis had interrupted the other man mid-sentence, as it were. Three sets of eyes turned to him.

Ridley was the first to speak. “Sorry, what’s a shame, then?” 

Couldn’t they see it? What, was everyone blind now? Noctis shook his head, getting dizzy from the motion. “You have such nice hair, Luna.”

Luna could tell right away something was wrong. Her face turned serious, eyes darting between Noctis and the other two. “Why…thank you, Noctis.” What else could she say?

“ ’S true,” Noctis continued. He leaned closer to her. “Why do you tie it up like that?” 

The other men chortled quietly after a moment. They had rightly guessed that Noctis was three sheets to the wind, but still. Speaking of a lady’s appearance in public? Asking about her hairstyle? It was shameful and rude! And…well, weird. Even when drunk most men did not go on about a lady’s hair. At least no one in White’s, that is.

“Oi, is he alright?” one of them asked. 

“I…Noctis…” Luna put her hand on Noctis’s elbow. She gently pushed, trying to get him to stand up. Make a swift exit.

But Noctis was determined. Luna had been wearing her hair all wrong for a while now! Someone needed to say something! 

“Do you ever talk to your lady’s maid about, like, changing it up a little?” Noctis asked. “Maybe like…”

Without asking, he laid his fingers on the shiny crown of Luna’s head. Right there at the table. Certain this was a wonderful idea, Noctis started tugging chunks of Luna’s hair loose from their bondage. He pulled the strands to the front to frame her face. 

“There, see?” Noctis curled the strands in his fingers so they had a nice bounce. “It’s much better like this, right?”

Ridley and his friend were nearly in tears they were laughing so hard. They’d never seen anything so ridiculous! Meanwhile Luna was momentarily stunned. Her face went very pale then very red in the span of a few seconds. She looked torn between shock and mortification—to have her hair played with at the table, tugged from its style! Any other lady might have fainted from the sheer indignity. 

“Nice move, mate,” Ridley said. “What a horrific thing to do to a lady…” 

“One of them mad kings, eh, Arthur?” They laughed on and on. 

But Noctis had stopped caring about those idiots. He wanted to undo Luna’s hair, start over from the beginning. A loose ponytail near the top would be perfect. Then she’d understand what she’d been missing all this time! 

“Noct…” Luna brought her face down so she could whisper. “We should probably go…” Her face was still red, but she had unfrozen herself from the initial shame. 

She tried to push Noctis a little harder but he wouldn’t move. He kept teasing out the bobbie pins holding her hair in place. She quickly gave up swatting his hands away because he was incorrigible. If she pushed him any more it would look like they were fighting—an unspeakable thing to do in front of people, nonetheless in White’s! She glanced around nervously…unsure what her next move might be. 

“Hey, you guys okay?” 

At that unmistakable voice, Noctis turned. His face darkened, suddenly remembering that he was very much in public and that he was very much the center of attention right now. 

And Prompto was standing right in front of him.

Apparently Prompto had seen the commotion from over by the card table. Not even asking for clarification, he looped his arm around Noctis’s shoulder and hauled the young lord to his feet.

“Sorry about him, guys,” Prompto said to the rest of the table. “He’s uh. Just a little drunk. And sorry about your hair Luna, um, Miss Fleuret. You look great by the way.”

“Tch…” Noctis was not too drunk to recognize his best friend making a lame pass at someone. 

But Luna hardly recognized the compliment. She saw Prompto for what he was—a way out—and used the opportunity to stand up as well. “Oh no, it’s quite alright!” she said to Prompto. To the other men, she said, “Please, excuse me. I must see to Mr. Caelum.”

She latched onto Noctis’s elbow and assisted Prompto in escorting the drunk gentleman out of the room. The nearest exit led to an open air veranda. The March night was a bit brisk, so no one was out enjoying the view at the moment. It was perfect for them in a pinch.

“Come on, buddy…” Prompto fiddled with the doorknob as he leaned most of Noctis’s weight on his shoulder. Fortunately Prompto was in fairly good shape. He could handle it. 

The three of them burst out onto the veranda. They took in a collective breath, relieved to have gotten even that far. With everyone staring at them, the room had become rather stifling. 

Finally, he could breathe.

When the night air hit Noctis, he immediately lost some of his drunken buzz. Standing was still a bit of a challenge, but he now painfully realized that he was making an ass of himself. He hadn’t meant to get so drunk…but the gin went down really smooth and he felt like garbage sitting at the table with those guys. Needless to say, now that he had become a complete laughingstock, the shitty feeling in his chest was more than a little worse.

He groaned like he might be sick.

“Let’s sit him down over here.” Luna led them to a small set of chairs. They eased Noctis into a sitting position, taking a step back when Noctis put his head between his knees. It was clear he might retch at any moment. 

Prompto puffed out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He needed a minute. 

“I’ll…go get him some water,” Luna announced. She hurried to the main room. “I’ll be right back!”

“Okay.” 

With Luna gone, Noctis and Prompto were alone for the first time since new year’s. The wind rustled past their ears, heightening the painful tension between the two of them. Noctis honestly had no idea what to say. He was still mad at Prompto for something—what was it again? he couldn’t quite remember now—but…Prompto more or less saved him back there. Or at least, he’d saved Luna. And that meant a lot to Noctis. 

So…how should he feel? 

Prompto fell into the chair opposite Noctis. Without lifting his head, Noctis snuck a peek at him. Damn, Prompto seemed so far away. That familiar face looked somehow different than Noctis remembered. Troubled in a semi-permanent kind of way; as in, troubled by things other than whatever was happening right now. 

Still, Prompto spoke first. “That was a really shitty thing to do to Luna, man.” 

“I know.” 

“You should apologize to her when she comes back.” 

“I know. I…will.” Yeah, for sure Noctis owed Luna an apology. He didn’t know if he could ever make it up to her, making a scene like that! Would she ever forgive him? She’d be within her right not to…

Noctis glanced back up at Prompto. His friend looked…kind of sad. Whatever had come between them in the past few months, Noctis hated to see him that way. They’d been friends for a long, long time. Truthfully, Prompto was Noctis’s first and only friend for most of his childhood. The Prompto he knew was hardly ever sad. Even when he was, he always covered it up with a smile or a quick joke. To see Prompto legitimately melancholy like this was rare. 

It made Noctis’s chest ache. He didn’t even know what was wrong in Prompto’s life. That was the really fucked up part. Worse than that? _He_ was the one who had pushed Prompto away. There was no excuse for what he’d said to his friend at new year’s. 

He owed more than one person an apology.

“Prom, I…” Noctis said, trying to sit up. Their eyes met. “I’m…sorry about what I said. That time. It was stupid, I don’t know what I was thinking. And I…fuck, man, I’m sorry.” 

Prompto took all that in. When Noctis trailed off, he looked out over the veranda to the dark city below. His face was still serious, unsmiling. He didn’t look moved by the apology, but that was fair. With everything that had happened, maybe Prompto wouldn’t forgive him either. Another person who could do so fairly—

“Hey, it’s okay.” Prompto sighed and scratched his eyebrows awkwardly. “I mean…I know you’re an asshole.” He turned to Noctis with a tiny hint of a smile. “That’s why we’re friends, right?” 

Relief broke across Noctis’s face. “Yeah,” he said with a broken laugh. He still felt like shit, but. That little smile on Prompto’s face helped him feel less like throwing up. 

“Except,” Noctis began again, blinking to clear his vision. “You’re not an asshole, though. You’re like…great…and stuff…” 

“Nah.” Prompto sucked air between his teeth. “I’m not.” 

Seriousness overtook him again. He turned his chair around to face Noctis, fiddling with his hands. Folding and unfolding them in his lap. A clear sign of nerves. It seemed there was something he wanted to say but the words were slow to come. 

Before they could get to the bottom of it, Luna reappeared with a glass of water wobbling in her hand. 

“Here, drink this, Noctis. Slowly, though. Not too fast.” She passed the glass and monitored him as he drank. 

The water was cold too. It helped him sober up. He looked over at Luna to thank her, but unfortunately grimaced at the sight she made. God, Luna’s hair was a total mess! He couldn’t believe he’d done that to her…how humiliating! If someone did the same thing to him as Viola, he might have cried!

“Ah I am so, so sorry…Luna…” Noctis turned away from her. Ashamed of himself. What she must think of him! 

Luna tucked some hair behind her ears. She took a deep breath, calmer now that she saw Noctis would be alright. “Please sip on the water, okay? I have to go…” She winced when she found a hair sticking straight up on the side of her scalp. “…try and fix this.” 

Noctis sunk into his seat. “…sorry…” He wished he could have offered to fix it properly, but under the circumstances that would have been wrong. Poorly received, probably. 

Preoccupied with the task ahead of her, Luna walked away without saying anything.

“Damn, she’s never going to talk to me again….” Noctis moaned when she left.

“Eh, she will.” Prompto shrugged. “She’s good like that."

Noctis really hoped that was true. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he fucked up his friendship with her for good. Not to mention, Regis might very well excommunicate him from the family once he heard what a mess his son had made. Forget about courting, Noctis had somehow managed to turn a childhood friend into a mortal enemy…

“Hey, Noct?” 

“…yeah?” He didn’t look at Prompto because he had a feeling this next part would be a little awkward. 

“Um, so…” More pauses. “…Are you okay?” 

This again? Noctis tried not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine—”

“No, wait, no. Sorry.” Prompto waved his hands furiously. “That’s not what I wanted to say.” 

It took another few moments for him to gather his thoughts. Finally, he said, “What I meant to say was…that…I’m sorry too.” 

Noctis frowned. The words felt good to hear, but he didn’t want to admit it. “For what?” 

“For…because…” Prompto’s shoulders drooped. He seemed weighed down by something. “Okay, look. Part of me knows that you’re not alright. Like, I’ve known that for a while and I mean…now…it’s sort of obvious.”

The hell was that for? Noctis was perfectly alright, damn it!

“No, I don’t mean it in like…that kind of way.” Prompto had seen the offended look. “What I mean is…I know you’ve been going through something. Like, something serious. I’m not sure what it is?” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I can see that it’s…rough.”

Of course, that was true. Noctis had been torn between two separate lives—indeed, two genders. Two personas. A difficult romance. Feelings he’d never experienced before…

“And I’m sorry because…” Prompto continued, guilt clouding his face. “…I knew you were having a tough time. And I didn’t try and help you because…well, I mean…” He winced. “I was kind of…confused, maybe. Like, freaked out? Not that you’re a freak or anything—because you’re not—but I…didn’t really know what to do, I guess.” 

Prompto had let his guard down by this point. He was being a hundred percent sincere. 

“Like, I’ve never known anyone who…wants the kinds of things you want, Noct.” The seriousness in Prompto’s face softened into an expression of yearning. Yearning to be understood. “But, it’s not your fault, right? I mean, you can’t help what you want. Who you want to be with and…what you want to wear, I mean…that’s just how it is, right?” 

Sudden hope blossomed in Noctis’s chest. He started to see what Prompto was driving at. That his friend was offering a hand, reaching out to him even though he wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant. Trying—even in his own unclear way—to figure out what his friend was going through. 

That bit of empathy meant the world to Noctis. He’d almost forgotten that Prompto had one of the biggest hearts out of anyone Noctis ever knew. He jumped at the chance to affirm everything Prompto was saying in that moment.

“Yeah.” He nodded. Perhaps too eagerly, so he shrugged his shoulders to make it seem more casual. “Yeah that’s…exactly how it is, Prom.” 

Relieved that Noctis wasn’t insulted by any of this, Prompto smiled weakly. “Sure. And…if that’s how it is then…that’s it, right? Like, it’s fine. Because it’s just…you.” 

The kindness behind those words chased away all the leftover drunkenness and sickness in Noctis. He wanted to run over and hug Prompto—for a long time, until the squirmy feeling in his chest went away—just like he’d done with Ignis when they’d had a similar conversation. 

Fuck, Prompto was such a good friend! Tears inched their way to Noctis’s eyes but he beat them back. He still needed to act cool in front of Prom, because that was the kind of relationship they had. More than anything, he wanted to punch Prompto in the shoulder like they used to. Their own personal sign of affection.

“So yeah.” Prompto turned up his hands. “I’ve…been thinking about it a lot lately and…I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For, you know. Not being there for you when you were going through some bad stuff.” 

“No, don’t be!” Noctis sat up straight in his chair. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong, Prom. You were just following your gut. I get that. And…thanks. It means a lot to me that you’d, you know. Say all that.” 

“Of course, man.” Prompto looked just as thankful as Noctis. Some of that sunshine returned to his eyes. 

He held out his hand. “So….friends?”

Noctis took it without question. “Yeah. Definitely.” They squeezed each other’s hands and shared a knowing smile. 

It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from both their shoulders. Whatever had happened inside—and that still wasn’t amazing, they’d have to work through quite a bit of fallout from that—the mood was now considerably brighter. They smiled freely at each other, like they used to do all the time. 

Like a piece of tile mosaic sliding back into place. 

After they shared a few jokes about everything they’d just been through, Noctis decided he needed to come clean too. All the way. He wanted to, and he had a feeling Prompto would accept him. That promise of acceptance was enough to make up his mind for sure. 

“I’m still doing it, Prom,” Noctis said bluntly. He wanted to explain everything top to bottom, but the veranda at White’s wasn’t the best place. Even though they were alone, it still wasn’t totally safe. “What we did on your birthday. I’m still…yeah.” 

Instead of reeling back in disgust or confusion, Prompto just nodded his head. “Yeah. I figured you were.” 

“Really?” 

“Uh-huh. Once you get an idea in your head, man, you’re pretty hard to stop. Plus, with your hair and everything.” That much was certainly true. Prompto went on, “And is it…I mean, does it make you happy?” 

Noctis raised his eyebrows.

“N-not in a gross way!” Redness rose to Prompto’s cheek. Noctis couldn’t hold back a laugh. “That’s not what I meant! Come on. I just meant…like, is that what you want to do?” 

Settling down when he heard that softhearted question, Noctis nodded with a smile. “Yeah. That’s what I want.” 

“Okay then. So, have fun. But…be careful, okay?” Prompto stole a serious glance at the end.

Yes, Noctis promised that he would be. And yes, he would most likely throw all caution to the wind the moment he left. 

While they waited for Luna to return—she certainly was taking her time fixing her hair, probably trying to reconstruct it as best she could—Noctis finally got around to asking Prompto what was going with him since they’d last talked. 

“Oh you know…” A weary sigh escaped Prompto’s lips. “Just kind of…the same.” 

“Yeah?” It didn’t sound like the truth at all. “So how are you and Cindy?” 

“Fine,” Prompto spat immediately. 

Noctis winced. That was such a regurgitated response. He would have caught the lie even if they didn’t know each other so well. And, knowing now that Prompto and Cindy had troubles, Noctis was worried. He’d thought for sure they would make it! What could be holding them back? 

Eventually Prompto relented. “…So, okay, yeah. We’re…not in a great place right now. It’s not _terrible_ or anything, just…not as good as it used to be.”

“Why? What happened?” 

“I guess…” Prompto cast about for a way to explain. “Maybe we don’t understand each other as well as we used to. You know?”

“Umm…” Noctis wanted to say that he did. But he had no clue. Between him and Ardyn, secrets were par for the course. Every day was an adventure, a new (often harrowing) discovery. “…not really?” 

There was clearly a story. “Okay, so it’s…just something that came up the other day. And I think it might be a big deal? But maybe it’s not and I’m just being super weird about it.”

Piece by piece, Prompto explained that Cindy had taken up some interesting new habits. Hobbies, you could say. Things Prompto desperately hoped Noctis would understand. 

“She’s kind of going your way, I think, you know?” Prompto said awkwardly.

“My way?” Noctis wrinkled his nose. He didn’t really have any one way. “What’s my way?” 

“Right.” Prompto lowered his voice, glancing nervously at the door in case Luna walked in all of a sudden. “You remember that top hat you gave me on my birthday? The one I never gave back because Cindy wanted to keep it?” 

“…Yeah…” A small inkling about the situation clicked in Noctis’s head.

“Cindy likes that hat. I mean, she… _really_ likes it.” Prompto’s eyes were wide, unsteady. “Sometimes she likes to wear it when we…you know.” 

Oh. _Oh_.

“And the other day I sort of…saw her trying on some of the clothes I left at her place. _My_ clothes, I’m saying.”

Noctis nodded in understanding. He didn’t quite know what to say. 

Prompto was completely bewildered. “And when I asked her about it, she just laughed and said she thought it looked good. So fine, whatever, right? Like I said, people like what they like. But…it’s just, I never got those clothes back. So I think she’s still…using them.” 

Oh man. It seemed Cindy really was headed in the same direction as Noctis! He’d never expected that. At the same time, he felt strangely proud of her. 

He was willing to bet she looked damn good in a six-piece suit. Or even a tailcoat, hell.

“Now she goes out every night.” Dark lines returned to Prompto’s face. “I don’t know where she goes and she doesn’t ask me to go with her. I’m starting to think maybe there’s…someone else.” 

“Shit.” Noctis said it before he had time to think about how it sounded. 

“Yeah, I know.” Prompto looked terribly haggard. His thoughts had probably been going around in circles for a while. The special kind of torment when you couldn’t trust your lover. 

Noctis knew that well enough. 

“You should talk to her about it, Prom. Ask her what’s going on. You deserve to know and it’s the only way you guys can work things out.” 

Prompto whimpered a little. “I know, it’s just…every time I think I’m going to bring it up, it’s like…I get scared. Because, part of me wants to know what’s going on with her. But part of me _doesn’t_ , you know?”

“Yup.” Oh, yes. Noctis knew exactly. “Still. You can’t keep going if you think she’s sleeping with someone else, dude.” 

“Yeah….I guess…”

Oh, no. It seemed Prompto had gone into that horrible territory where he thought the relationship could continue if they just never talked about certain things. It was a recipe for disaster—and it was the hardest trap to escape. Prompto probably wouldn’t be able to hash things out with Cindy until he was absolutely forced to, like what happened between Noctis and Ardyn in Steyliff…

“Alright!” 

They whipped around as the door to the veranda opened once more. Luna emerged with her head and her hands held high. Both Noctis and Prompto gasped when they saw her.

She looked absolutely amazing!

“What do you think?” Luna tossed her head side to side, showing off the style she had chosen for her hair.

“Yes!” Noctis nearly jumped out of his seat. “That’s what I was talking about Luna! It’s the perfect style for you!” 

“Yeah…” Prompto’s eyes were as wide as saucers. His nose turned suspiciously pink. “You look…umm, that’s, yeah. What he said.” 

Luna beamed happily. She trotted over to join the two boys where they sat. Infinitely pleased with herself. 

It seemed Noctis was absolutely correct in his theory about Luna’s hair, even if he’d gone about explaining it to her in the worst way possible. When she excused herself to the ladies restroom, Luna took a chance and redid her whole style. She left some loose curls—like bangs—cascading in the front and piled the rest of her hair freely on top of her head. It was a purposefully unkempt style, the height of fashion. And she was nailing it with ease. 

In light of that, Luna bore no grudges. She was very relieved to see Noctis substantially less drunk. That was her top concern. Anything else Luna was willing to chalk up to another…unique London learning experience.

“Oh, by the way, Luna…” Noctis finally remembered his manners. “Have you met Prompto?”

Casting her eyes over to Prompto as if seeing him for the first time, recognition dawned on Luna’s face. “Oh, Prompto! Mr. Aregntum!” She smiled and nodded cheerfully. “Noct told me all about you in his letters! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, heh!” Prompto cleared his throat. His voice always cracked at the worst times. “He told me all about you, too. I’ve been watching—I mean, I’ve seen you. Like, around. Sometimes, you know, at events…”

Quickly realizing what kind of person Prompto was, Luna laughed airily. She was not squeamish around awkwardness. After all, she’d been friends with Noctis long enough. Instead she saw it as a sign of sincerity. She found it charming. 

The three of them wound up spending the rest of the evening outside on the veranda. Chatting, catching up. Talking about easy, neutral topics. They got along fairly well with the common connection of Noctis between them. And a good deal of similarities that they’d never known they shared. For example, a fierce love of dogs and horses. And cats, though Prompto said most cats hated him. Luna tried to convince him that it wasn’t true; cats just needed more time to warm up to a person. He was probably giving off the wrong signals.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Prompto said. “Wrong signals. I’m good at that.”

As the night wore on, Luna wrapped her shawl around her shoulders to keep warm. Eventually even that wasn’t enough. The second they saw her shivering, Noctis and Prompto got up at the same time to offer their coats. 

In the end, Luna took Prompto’s because his was a bit bigger in the shoulders. 

When nearly everyone else had left, they decided it was time for them to go home too. Luna returned Prompto’s coat with a promise to see him again, and Noctis escorted Luna to her aunt’s house. Nyx’s brougham served as their carriage.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Noct,” Luna said as they hugged farewell for the night. “And…” She pointedly glanced upward. “Thanks for the suggestion. I have quite a mind to ask my lady’s maid to give me a more…natural style in the future.” 

Noctis—though, in that moment, they were more Viola—glowed with happiness. “Great. And you’re welcome!”

They really meant that. 

_______________________________________

_Chiswick  
_ _3 March, 1857  
_ _Saturday - Morning_

Noctis had no way of avoiding breakfast with Regis the following day. It was slightly worse than usual because Noctis had no doubt Regis knew every single thing that happened the night before. What with his myriad spies around town and the steadfast line of gossip he had on hand at all times. 

“I’m told you got a little…inebriated last night, Noct?” Regis said after nearly twenty minutes of agonizing silence.

Thank god. They’d better just have it out already! 

“…Yeah. A little.” Noctis nibbled on his hard boiled egg, not making eye contact.

“I see.” Regis paused at length. Then he said, “Well, that is regrettable. But I’m also told that when the night was over you escorted Lady Lunafreya home on good terms.” 

“Yup. I did.” 

Nothing to be ashamed of there! For one, Noctis really had enjoyed his time with Luna and Prompto. And two, that was exactly what Regis had been expecting him to do.

“…Very well.” Another pause. Finally—finally—Regis sucked in a breath, saying, “Ah, the foibles of youth. Such an inconsistent, troublesome time. Sometimes I don’t envy your age, Noct.” 

“Uh-huh.” At least Regis sounded pleasant enough today.

“I assume you’ll be going to the Eckhart’s ball in a few weeks?” 

“Of course.” No need to say… _who_ , exactly, he was going as. Or _with_ , for that matter. 

“Very good.” Regis nodded. All was right in his world.

When breakfast was nearly finished, Regis added one final thought. “Do watch your alcohol intake at the Eckhart’s, son. There is such a thing as too good of a time.”

…But was there? Was there really? Noctis honestly couldn’t say he’d ever had too much fun. 

Might be a good thing to try, though. Goals.

_________________________________________

_Knightsbridge  
_ _4 March, 1857  
_ _Sunday - Afternoon_

“Ah, miss…perhaps we should call it a day.” Aranea tapped the toes of her sore feet against the cobblestone outside yet another boutique in Knightsbridge. “The perfect evening dress for you might not just spring out of the heavens, alright? We might have to come back another time…”

They’d been at it all day. Viola decided she was not willing to purchase any accessories until she found the exact ballgown she’d be wearing to the Eckhart’s. What sense did it make to buy accessories if you weren’t sure they would fit the outfit? No. Viola was stumbling in the dark—she had no idea what color scheme she’d be going with, nor what overarching style. Would it be floral? Patterned? Silk or wool? Tulle or lace? There were too many variables. Guessing and then simply making due was so…boring.

She needed to find the right ballgown first. That was the only correct choice. 

How tiring, though! They went to Harrod’s first, only to find department store’s selection of evening wear painfully lacking. They had a few choices, but nothing Viola would seriously consider. One of them was light green, an obvious rejection, and the other was just too…simple. You couldn’t even see the boning in the bodice. Perhaps that would have been fine for a dinner part, but a ball? Viola wanted to look…well, she didn’t quite know. But she’d know as soon as she found it!

At this point, they’d been through all the boutiques they knew. The only options that remained were to wander the streets until they found something new (a reliable choice, considering the wealth of shops in London) or give up and return the following weekend.

_Hmm. Maybe here…_

“One more, Aranea, just one more for today. Come on…” Viola tugged her lady’s maid’s elbow, leading them down an unexplored, tiny side street. She could tell Aranea was nearing her limit of fruitless shopping. And she didn’t blame her—this had been a disappointing endeavor all around.

But once Viola got an idea in her head…well. As Prompto said.

That particular side street was less travelled than most. Viola and Aranea linked arms as they made their way through. They couldn’t find a sign with a proper street name, so they just walked and kept their eyes open for traces of a boutique. 

In one window, Viola caught sight of a clerk fluffing material on a clothing dummy. At first, all she saw was red. Not bright red, not dark either. A cranberry shade, somewhere between mulberry and crimson. When the store clerk moved, she got a better look at the dress he was primping.

Yes.

“That.” 

As soon as Aranea saw where Viola was looking, she knew that she’d have to eat her words about the perfect ballgown materializing from the heavens.

Happily, though. Because _that_ was a dress Aranea could work with.

“Yup. That.” 

They steered into the boutique. Upon closer inspection, they realized how lucky they’d been to find such a thing! The ballgown was flounced—two-tiers, quite fashionable—and made of a light silk material. Perfect for dancing. There was dark embroidery along the bottom, snaking up like branches, reaching all the way to the waist. Wispy and attractive. The neckline was low, lined in white lace. The detachable collar that lay across the bust—called a berthe—was a solid strip of material outlined in the same dark embroidery. Black and red tassels dangled across the chest. They would fall nicely along Viola’s bare arms when she wore it.

“Do you think it’s too dark, miss?” Aranea asked, testing the quality of the fabric between her fingers. 

“Hell no,” Viola answered right away. (Forgetting she was a woman and that was highly inappropriate.) “It’s perfect. Darker colors highlight my complexion. And I’ve never had a red dress before…” 

Perhaps this was a dress made for a woman in light mourning. But Viola didn’t care—this was stylish! Avant-garde, perhaps, but too beautiful to pass up. She could definitely dance in this dress and that was most important thing. 

The best part about this was the idea that no one—absolutely no one—at the entire Eckhart ball would be wearing a similar dress. People would not be able to look away once they saw her—oh, and Ardyn.

She could picture the look on his face. Or maybe she couldn’t. Because she was absolutely certain this dress fit her lover’s tastes precisely, down to the last detail. She wanted Ardyn to stumble over his feet, unable to see anything but her! To round on her with an expression of unbridled desire. To worship her, as he did.

Oh dear lord. Yes. Her heart hammered in her chest. 

Seeing the pure rapture on her mistress’s face, Aranea realized the choice had already been made. And it was a rather fine choice. Hell, Viola had a good eye. No denying that.

“Shall we get it fitted, miss?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it: [Noctis's ballgown](http://fripperiesandfobs.tumblr.com/post/136287952022/evening-dress-ca-1859-60-from-the-exhibition-a)! Cards on the table, this dress is my precious. I fell in love with it so much I did actual research on it and found the exhibit where it was on display in Glasgow called [“A century of style: Costumes and colors 1800-1899.”](https://thehistorygirlsscotland.com/2015/12/13/exhibition-review-a-century-of-style/) [Here’s a close up of the dress’s backing](http://www.1001weekends.net/?p=533) where you can see the details in the laces. It’s a rare find and I *love* the idea of Noctis in a red dress. To make it less dark, Viola is going to have a white rose theme for her accessories, but I’ll put those links in the next chapter ;) 
> 
> [Ardyn’s evening wear looks a little like this](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/249738741812141512/). You can clearly see the length of the tailcoat there. His waistcoat and bowtie would be white, [like this](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/454159943660954459/).
> 
> Also, in case anyone was curious: If there ever comes a time when this story is finished (many many moons from now lol) I want to write a sequel with our girl Luna as the main character. I think she's great and she deserves her Victorian AU spotlight :) :)! 
> 
> Peace and love, fam <3


	10. The ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viola just wants to dance. She finally gets the chance--and a little more than that as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A monster chapter. Took me a hell of a long time to write, I'll be honest!
> 
> Time to go to the ball :)! Here are the last few details for Viola’s outfit:  
> [Here’s the white rose hair piece](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/49/f2/66/49f266e948b8d143e0b5a0ebf5f1f470--victorian-hairstyles-vintage-hairstyles.jpg>Here%E2%80%99s%20what%20her%20hair%20would%20look%20like</a>,%20looped,%20stylish%20bun%20with%20braiding%20in%20the%20front.%20<a%20href=), she’d probably put it either on the side near her ear to show it off, or maybe high up in the back to stand out from her head. [The white lace gloves](https://img0.etsystatic.com/160/0/9662280/il_340x270.1170855638_l3hh.jpg), an essential. [her shoes](http://www.1860-1960.com/xs0364p0.html), white leather pumps with a tiny heel and a small design. Good for dancing. And of course, [her necklace](https://www.vampsjewelry.com/collections/neo-victorian-jewelry/products/cream-rose-filigree-pearl-crystal-victorian-necklace). I am now in love with this necklace as well.
> 
> Here’s a labelled picture with [the kinds of things a lady would have for ballgown attire](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/449234131559152650/).
> 
> I also wanted to include some notes on [ball etiquette](https://www.mimimatthews.com/2017/05/08/the-etiquette-of-the-victorian-ballroom-twenty-tips-for-single-gentlemen/). That’s an interesting link because it’s quotes from a book made for single men at the time, telling them how to act cool (and proper obviously) at a ball. Here’s [everything you could want to know about how balls worked](http://www.victoriana.com/Fashion/victorian-ball.html).
> 
> A nice informational video on some of [the different couples dances they did](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gr2JrloB7pc&pbjreload=10). Common couples dances were the waltz and the mazurka. Here’s a video of one of the group dances, [the gallopede](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgcUhQyAJlo). Quadrille dances were for groups of four couples,[like this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNx7xswnu68).

**Chapter Ten: The ball**

_Chiswick_  
_19 March, 1857  
_ _Monday - Midday_

“Wait—can we try the other one again?”

“Certainly, sir. From the top?"

Noctis and Ignis stood face to face in the young master’s bedroom. Ignis’s right hand was curled around Noctis’s waist, his left hand out and to the side, gently cuffing Noctis’s hand inside his own. They were in the perfect position for a couple’s dance: Ignis playing the gentleman, and Noctis of course playing the lady.

The young lord made one very important realization as the date of the ball drew closer: He was an excellent ballroom dancer, _but_. He’d never been in the role of the woman before. This meant that all the steps to the standard variety of dances he knew would be…well, not useless, but not entirely helpful. At Eckhart’s he’d have to do them all backwards if Viola were to pass as any kind of lady!

So, realizing this rather important caveat, Noctis recruited the help of Ignis once more. Ignis loved ballroom dancing too, had learned it from a young age. He even taught Noctis a thing or too over the years. Now that Noctis needed practice standing in the woman’s place, he looked to his trusty valet to be his male partner. 

Naturally, Ignis complied without question. As if leading his master through a waltz were the most commonplace thing in the world. 

After the initial awkwardness—this was rather intimate, and it felt a little silly without music—Noctis found himself relaxing into Ignis’s movements. The valet was confident and unhurried. Thorough in his suggestions for Noctis. Earnest in his own calm, collected way. He knew that Viola’s success was contingent upon her ability to dance and he took that seriously. For all their sakes.

More importantly, Noctis felt like a lady there in Ignis’s arms. Even though he was wearing a buttoned down shirt and breeches. He loved Ignis for that, for seeing past Noctis’s clothes—past his station, his family obligations and everything else—to the person inside. His soul. His truth. He’d never be able to tell Ignis how much that meant.

Ignis was utterly irreplaceable.

As it was, they needed to be as discreet as possible. The bed was slightly pushed to the side so they had more space to practice the movements. As a failsafe, there was a tailcoat laid out on the bed—just in case anyone should knock, Noctis would throw on the coat and Ignis could pretend to be taking measurements. To give them a reason why they should be in the master’s bedroom alone together for so long. 

“If I may, sir,” Ignis began, going through the steps of the waltz at nearly half the regular pace. Keeping an eye out for Noctis’s feet. “Perhaps you should bring your hand to your knee for now, at the time where the young woman stands in _chassé_ position, displaying her skirts?”

“Oh, right.” 

Noctis blushed as he remembered the dainty end to this dance. A pose with his skirts gathered in one hand, feet arranged in a _chassé._ It was the part where everyone clapped, the coup de grâce. Everyone who wasn’t dancing that round would be staring, looking for nothing short of elegance in each dancer’s poise. 

Viola would need to be elegant. 

The thought sent a warm flush through Noctis’s stomach, and lower. He would show them all just how elegant he could be!

If only he could stop tripping when his feet swept outward at the last turn.

Ignis led him through the steps a few more times. By the end, the valet was gently humming a tune in 3/4 time to help Noctis mimic the flow of the dance. It felt much more natural now. They could almost imagine the ruffling of skirts and the heavy, hot feel of the ballroom around them. It felt real.

After a few more minutes, Ignis suggested they take a break. “You’ve improved,” he stated, adjusting his glasses. “Even just in the time we’ve been practicing. Well. You’ve always had a knack for dancing, Noct.”

Smiling, pleased with a compliment like that, Noctis flopped down on the bed. His toes were tired from being pointed for so long, but he knew this had definitely been worth it. When he stood there with Ardyn in Eckhart’s ballroom, everything needed to be perfect. Flawless. Beautiful.

It would be. Noctis wasn’t too worried about pulling this one off. He was more…consumed with excitement. Seeing everyone he knew, but from the eyes of Viola! A chance to shed who he was and be only who he wanted be. A precious moment. 

Really, he couldn’t wait for the ball. It was coming up rather fast—this Friday—but it just wasn’t happening fast enough for Noctis! He kicked his feet where he laid on the bed, childishly. Why couldn’t time just move faster for once! 

“I’ll be going with you to Engheld House on Friday evening, correct?” Ignis asked. 

“Yup. That’s the plan.” Noctis and Ardyn would be dressing at Engheld and then taking a hansom cab to Eckhert’s. Their ball attire had been sitting in Ardyn’s house for the better part of two weeks. Ready and waiting.

“I see.” Ignis lowered his voice and came to sit next to Noctis on the bed. “What are we telling your father?” 

Noctis had already worked this out, too. “We’ll tell him that I’ve already had my suit sent to Eckhart’s. And that it’s fashionable to dress for a ball in the host’s dressing room these days. Which is…kind of true, I guess. I mean some people do it.”

“Very good. And Nyx?”

“He’s taking us to Engheld. Then he’s heading right to Eckhart’s where he’s just going to sit for a few hours. This way it looks like I was actually there, in case anyone asks. I’ll tell my dad that I went home with Prompto because we stayed out too late. If he wants to know, I mean.” 

Nodding, Ignis seemed impressed by all the forethought. “And Ulric is…alright with all this?”

“Yup.” Noctis trusted Nyx pretty well. They’d been through a fair number of…utter shit shows…in the past. “I gave him a few extra quid. And it’s basically a night off for him. So.” 

By all accounts, it sounded like a plan that could work. Not even Ignis had anything to add. (In some ways, he was proud of Noctis for that.) 

A few moments ticked by. Then, in a very, very quiet voice, Ignis said, “I’ve…looked into that matter for you, sir.”

“Hmm?” Noctis stretched lazily, trying to remember what his friend was talking about. 

“The one you told me about after our return from Steyliff Grove.” Ignis’s face was murky, unsmiling. He continued, just for clarity, “Delyvn Lucis.”

That name had to be a curse. It fell from Ignis’s lips and darkened the room, making Noctis feel cold and clammy all of a sudden. He’d almost forgotten he asked Ignis to do some research into that man, that name. Ignis had some ‘connections’ (better not to ask how) in the public registry department of the national office. He could easily get information about a person, had done so for the Caelum family in the past.

Swallowing hard, Noctis sat up, folding his legs in a subconsciously defensive way. “Oh. So um…what did you find out?” 

Ignis breathed in through his nose. His brow furrowed. “It’s…a bit complicated.” 

“Complicated how?” Noctis asked, worried. 

For Ignis, complicated usually meant confusing. And confusing usually meant there was something Ignis had not yet worked out. Problems with difficult solutions, or unanswered questions. Missing information.

“Well, to begin with, there was a man named Delvyn Lucis, born in London in 1810. He was the second son of Arnold Lucis, and the master of Engheld House from 1832 until 1855.” He paused. “You know already, I suppose as most people do, that Engheld is the familial Lucis home. It was passed down for generations through their line.”

Noctis had pieced that much together. Engheld belonged to the Lucis family. A staunch, sparse upper middle class family with some notable acquaintances in the House of Lords. Even Regis might recognize the name Lucis; a Lord was bred to remember things like names, and Lucis was well-known enough.

So no surprise there. Noctis tried to memorize the years—he had a feeling those would be important. 

Ignis folded his hands, making himself comfortable as he turned the facts around in his head. “Delvyn inherited Engheld along with a sizable family fortune in 1832. The first curious thing about this is that Arnold—his father—died in 1830, two years earlier. So that leaves a two year gap. I questioned who was taking care of Engheld during this time, but ultimately found nothing.”

Okay, that was weird. Estates like that did not just sit unattended—in no one’s name—for two years. It would have been impossible. Even if the family appointed a legal caretaker for a few years while they waited for Delvyn to come of age, the caretaker’s name would be in registry. Why wasn’t there anything listed? 

Nodding at his master, seeing the first signs of confusion on his face, Ignis continued. “Then there is the rather suspicious business of Delvyn’s death. Officially, Delvyn Lucis died in 1855 from accidental misfiring of his pistol—a gun of questionable origins. The Lucis family was notoriously pacifistic on a time, Arnold was not known to carry guns or weapons of any kind.”

The first red flag. A clear sign that Ardyn’s story of ‘the classic English boyhood,’ hunting at a country home, was entirely false. 

Noctis knew that already, but. Having undeniable evidence of the dissonance…more than anything, it made Noctis uneasy. He knew Ardyn was lying about this because it could hurt him to reveal the truth. Hurt him in some way, either legally or perhaps physically if he was in some kind of danger. Emotionally, maybe. If Ardyn’s crumbling constitution whenever he was faced with facts from his past could be held as proof of emotional impact. And it certainly could.

Noctis did not want to hurt Ardyn. But…he needed to know _something_. A hint, a clue. Anything! He at least wanted to know what everyone else in London knew about the Lucis family! The things that were a matter of pubic record.

“However,” Ignis adjusted his glasses slowly, methodically. “Rumor has it that Delvyn was found alone in his study with a wound inflicted through the mouth. Very unlikely to have been a misfortune while polishing the weapon, for example. My friend in the national office remembered the story from a few years ago. The assumption amongst the public is as you thought, sir. Suicide.”

Noctis nodded through that explanation. He knew enough about party talk to believe that the dark stories told under the influence of dinner wine were quite often true. So instead of lingering on that tragedy—who knew the reasons why a man might commit such an act upon himself?—Noctis asked, “So what happened to Engheld once Delvyn died?”

“That is the third matter I found suspicious.” Ignis’s eyes were sharp behind his glasses. “Delvyn left no will. It seems he had no children, and there were no distant cousins willing to claim the House. Most of the Lucis fortune…disappeared over the years.”

Definitely strange. A second red flag, disappearing fortunes.

“So Engheld became a ward of the municipal office. The Lucis family records end there, rather abruptly.” Ignis turned his palms upward to indicate the suddenness of such a thing. “It seems there is no trace of a Mr. Izunia within their records.

“But here is the thing I need you to hear, Noct.” Ignis’s voice was clear as he continued. Enunciating every syllable so there could be no ambiguity. 

“Arnold Lucis had two sons.” Ignis’s gaze did not waver. “Delvyn was the second. The first, born in 1808, was a man named Ardyn Lucis.” 

Sweat broke across Noctis’s back.

There it was. There, finally. The connection. Ardyn and Delvyn—sons of the same father. And, a real last name! It seemed at least some of Ardyn’s story had been true after all: He was a Lucis. Raised in Engheld. That was his family. He had not sprung out of the ground nor fell from heavens—he was real, he was a Londoner! A man not so different from Noctis in his youth.

Noctis clutched his hand to his chest. Ardyn Lucis. He repeated the name over and over in his head as if it were an incantation. Now at last he had a name to call this man whom he loved. The name he had been called at birth. 

It was special. A secret, yes. But a kernel of truth. Noctis wanted to keep that name inside his heart forever. 

“…Are you alright, sir?” 

Noctis opened his eyes. He looked at Ignis with a pale face, forcing himself to smile. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

In a way, this was a relief. Delvyn—that dreaded curse—wasn’t someone Ardyn had…killed or…come afoul of in some way. He was Ardyn’s _brother_! Obviously there was some kind of tragedy between them—whoever was at fault, or if life itself had somehow played a role. But bad blood was typical.

Family shit was complicated. Noctis could understand that.

Ignis put his hand on his master’s shoulder. He searched Noctis’s face for any kind of sign that this was too much for him. After all, Ignis knew quite well exactly what Ardyn meant to the young lord. He knew that Noctis was leaving himself vulnerable by searching for the truth, trying to find answers.

Noctis patted Ignis’s hand and peeled it off his shoulder. He wasn’t ready to fully process any of this yet—not until he knew _everything_. “Really, I’m fine. Keep going. What else did you find out about…Ardyn Lucis?”

(There he said it.)

Recognizing that Noctis needed the whole truth more than anything else, Ignis took a breath and finished. “That is the fourth and most suspicious thing of all. I couldn’t find any more information about him.” 

“…What?”

Ignis bit his lower lip in a small display of anxiety. “There is a record of his birth, but no record of his death. After 1808, there is no further mention of Ardyn in the entire Lucis registry. It’s as if he just…vanished.”

Noctis almost wanted to laugh! How could that be?! Ardyn hadn’t vanished—he was right there! In Noctis’s arms every night. Between his thighs. Holding him up, bending him in half—

“I think,” Ignis went on to say, “The records have been tampered with.”

Ah. 

“Is that…possible?” Noctis had never heard of people messing with the national registry.

“Of course. It’s easy enough, I suppose, if one…rewards the right people.” Bribery fixed a great many problems, true. “And there was one large segment of the registry that was completely blotted out with ink. Perhaps it was a mistake—someone might have spilled an inkwell on the pages, but.” Ignis shook his head. “It appears too convenient. Ink only touches one section immediately after 1830.” 

So, someone redacted the documents to take out Ardyn’s name. Paid people off to get it done. That seemed like a lot of trouble…for what?

“Initially, I thought perhaps there was record of Ardyn dying alongside his father in 1830. But I checked the obituary records and Arnold Lucis died of natural causes. An old man.” Ignis brought a finger to his lip in thought. “Then I thought there might have been some…foul play in 1832, around the time Delvyn inherited the fortune. Considering the gap and the unorthodox line of succession.”

Foul play was a fair assumption. After all…it was kind of a mystery how Delvyn inherited the fortune in the first place. Shouldn’t it have gone to the first born son, Ardyn? Yet there was no record of him ever accepting the inheritance. 

There was no record of him anywhere. Like he’d been erased from history!

“But penal records are a police matter, and I’d need clearance to search through those.” Ignis sighed. Thwarted by the police yet again, he was. “I looked casually through the newspaper records from 1832 and found no mention of the name Lucis. Nor Ardyn, nor Delvyn. So I came to an impasse.” 

Noctis passed a hand over his mouth. So much information and yet still so many questions. What happened between Ardyn and Delvyn? Why was Ardyn expunged from the registry? 

What happened to Ardyn from 1808 until 1856, the day Noctis met him? 

At this point, Noctis only had one concrete fact: Ardyn had, in fact, been born. Slightly more useful than that, he was a Lucis. He was a gentleman, or had been.

Noctis knew it. Ardyn had been part of this world at some point. He knew too much to just be putting on an act. But the rest of his life—the other half of Ardyn’s world, the mystery…Noctis had nothing to help him fathom what that could be. 

He longed to know. Deep down, the same place that reveled in having a last name for his lover. He wanted to see Ardyn for what he was. The whole man.

Some day.

“I can return to the national office any time, sir,” Ignis hurried to say. “If there’s something else you’d like me to find out.”

“…No, I think…that’s it for now, Iggy.” What else could they do at an impasse like this? Noctis couldn’t think of a way around faulty records. He might need to find someone from 1830 that he could ask. 

Or, he might need to wait until Ardyn revealed the rest on his own. Even if that felt like waiting for a locked door to open by itself. Ardyn clammed up every time Noctis asked questions—casual ones, like, “What does this tattoo mean?” or “How did you and Caligo meet?” Ardyn might answer with utter silence. Or else a slight, “Hmm.” Or just an offer to fuck Noctis straight through the floor, which Noctis could not very well turn down.

It was frustrating. But. Noctis knew Ardyn’s secrets were…the painful kind. He had no desire to push until Ardyn pushed him right back.

“Thanks for doing all that, Ignis. You’re such a big help.” Noctis laid both hands on Ignis’s shoulders. He hoped his face showed every inch of the gratitude he felt for the man.

What the hell would he do without Ignis?

“You’re welcome, sir. It is my pleasure. As always.”

_______________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames  
_ _23 March, 1857  
_ _Friday - Evening_

The day of the ball finally arrived. After weeks of planning, of anticipation, of practice. It was here!

Viola sat in front of her lady’s maid like a blank canvas. She wore only her petticoat, stockings, corset, and crinoline. The foundational layer of paint on a masterpiece portrait.

Aranea took one look at the dress and knew this would be a two-person job. “We need Specs,” she announced. And so, the valet was brought in to help Viola—the lady of the house in this scenario—into her clothes. In an ideal situation, they would have a handmaiden or even a house maid to assist, but they were in a pinch. Ignis would have to do. 

Indeed, the gown Viola picked was heavy enough to require two sets of hands. The material was silk, but the flounces and reams of crinoline made it so that both Aranea and Ignis were needed to pass the skirts carefully over Viola’s head. When they were done, Aranea began the tedious process of lacing the stays in the back. Carefully—putting on his gloves first so as not to stain the material with any oils from his hands—Ignis flattened the ruffles in the skirts and fluffed the crinoline underneath. Letting the materials coalesce with each other.

The dress must sit on the lady’s body naturally. It must appear thoughtless, but by _design_. 

Viola stared at herself breathlessly in the mirror. She knew, even though it was sold in some nondescript boutique down an unnamed side street, that this dress had been _made_ for her. It fit like a second layer of skin. The shape of the boning from her ribs to her navel—she’d never worn boning this fine before, nor this pronounced—was as sexy of a thing as anyone might hope to wear. Her bare shoulders peaked from the collar. The tassels kissed her flesh, sliding gracefully over her arms every time she moved. 

Black and red. Dark, secretive. The color highlighted the blue in her eyes, making them scream for attention. Black wildflowers thrived from her feet to her thighs. Whispering to anyone who might listen about the secret of Viola’s youth—the child who played in the brambles of Sussex.

Oh yes. This dress was _hers_.

“My word, Miss…” Ignis sighed deeply as he stared at her. Bewildered but pleased. Like a man who just recovered his sight after years living in the dark. “…You are a vision.”

Viola caught his eyes in the mirror and giggled. “Thanks, Ig. Go help Ardyn, okay? He’s probably trying to put his tailcoat on by himself. And, like, wrecking it.” 

Ignis stiffened at the suggestion. What nightmare awaited him in the next room? “I shall. Do you need anything else, Miss Highwind?”

“Nope.” Aranea smoothed the dress material in the back. “All that’s left is the lady’s hair, and I can do that myself. Thanks for the help, Speccy.” 

“Of course.” With a tight bow, Ignis excused himself. 

He would take it as his solemn duty to turn Ardyn into a man that was even a little bit worthy of standing at Viola’s side. Quite the feat. But Ignis would accept nothing less.

Picking up a brush, Aranea got right to work on her mistress’s hair. This would actually take the longest out of everything. Now that Viola had an adequate amount of hair to work with (down just past her shoulders), Aranea could finally show off some of her skill. She plaited the front bangs into a loose braid, tightening the hair near the end and looping it, letting it dangle near Viola’s ear like an extra accessory. As for the hair in the back, Aranea scooped everything into a loose bun. The ends were pinned in the middle with a beautiful hair piece.

“I think everyone is going to be wearing flowers tonight, miss,” Aranea predicted. “We made a good choice with this piece.”

Viola beamed. She thought so too! At White’s, all the young ladies had been adorned with flowers in their hair. A good sign of this Season’s fashions. Viola wanted to be the epitome of fashion tonight. 

Her hair piece was made of one giant, white silk rose. When Aranea pulled the petals apart it appeared to be in full bloom. There were strands of thin wire like branches stretching from the rose, decorated with tiny pearls.

“Lovely,” Aranea cooed. Happy with her work. 

Viola patted her hair gently. She was stunned—seeing the woman she’d dreamed of being in Steyliff Grove. A person who had been raised to look as charming as this.

Even better was the fact that Viola knew she had cultivated all this charm on her own. She’d been raised a man. Noctis was a gentleman. As for her, she’d had to learn how to be beautiful when she decided that was something she wanted. 

And she was totally nailing it.

Aranea helped her on with the gloves. They were elbow-length and lace. White roses dotted her arms at odd intervals, free-flowing. The lines in the lace gave a glimpse of the skin underneath.

Then for the final touch. The necklace: A creamy, white rose cameo pendant surrounded by metal filigree with a long teardrop pearl dangling from the center. The metal had been polished to look dark, but that made the whiteness of the pearl and cameo stand out more. 

“Such a nice finish, miss,” Aranea commented, smoothing the pendant across the flat of her mistress’s chest. “We did good, huh?”

Viola turned in the mirror a few times. The full view of her ensemble was indeed the masterpiece she’d hoped.

“Yeah….” She held Aranea’s hand. Cherishing it, knowing all the beauty Aranea’s hands were capable of summoning in the world. “We did.”

————————

“Is this your idea of good fashion?” 

Ardyn pulled irritably at what he considered an ill-fitted suit. The tailcoat barely closed around the waist! What kind of style was that?

“Hardly my idea, sir,” Ignis replied. He fiddled with the cufflinks on Ardyn’s coat. “This is just the most timely look.” 

Timely. Ardyn stared at himself hard in the mirror. He did not love what he saw. After all, he had no huge admiration for time as a concept, nor any desire to stay current in his fashions. Back in his day…well, back in his day a man did not prance about with his coat open! The very idea! 

But Ardyn’s day was back in the Regency period. He feared he was making that painfully obvious to Ignis, who’s sharp eyes kept glancing at him unforgivingly. This valet saw way too much, didn’t he?

Ardyn sighed in defeat. He was completely at Ignis’s disposal and he knew it. Fortunately he had good assurance that Ignis would not make him look like a fool. There was no way the valet would let his master go out with someone the least bit subpar. Ardyn could rest assured of that.

He just had to let go of his…old fashioned notions of what good attire looked like. As much as it pained him. Like a cat hissing at the edge of a bath.

“I am a puppet in your hands,” Ardyn announced, spreading his arms wide to let Ignis work properly. “Do with me as you will.”

“Certainly, sir.”

——————

It was already dark by the time Ardyn and Viola were ready to see each other. Ignis took a bit longer than usual with the man. Viola waited with Caligo and Aranea in the sitting room, tapping her foot impatiently.

She clicked her teeth. The ball started at 8:00. How long were they going to take…? 

Footfalls approached. Everyone turned. At last Ardyn paraded down the stairs with Ignis in toe. They shared a look—

That was it. Viola automatically rose to her feet while Ardyn stopped dead in his tracks. Their eyes showed the same mix of expressions. Pride, of course. And a loud, desperate yearning. Yearning for approval and, of course, for the other.

Caligo whistled loudly. Aranea broke into small applause. As Ignis emerged from behind Ardyn, everyone immediately congratulated him on working some kind of magic. Possibly black magic or something unholy—else, Ignis worked with God’s own touch. 

Because Ardyn looked better than he ever had. 

Somehow— _somehow_ —Ignis managed to shave the man’s face. Clean-shaven, rid of his usual stubble, Ardyn’s smooth face seemed younger. Brighter. Not like a man trying to play the part of a gentleman, but this time an actual gentleman. His unkempt hair was washed—beautifully silky—and tied back with a thin black ribbon. With his hair swept off his face, the chiseled features in his cheeks and in his jawline took center stage. 

Ardyn was a _such_ handsome man. Viciously attractive. Anyone—literally anyone, not just people who were enticed by the mercurial quality in those amber eyes—would say so. He was the picture of confident manliness: Strong and beautiful. Hard masculinity softened by the sweet ponytail in the back. 

Noctis fell in love with him all over again. 

He ran to Ardyn, who held out his arms. Their hands met first. Latching together as if pulled by some otherworldly force. 

“Ardyn….” 

At this distance, Noctis could smell a new aftershave on his lover. Something he’d never used before. It drew him like a moth to the flame. Noctis closed the space between them and brought the tip of his nose to Ardyn’s neck. Inhaling Ardyn’s scent like it held the secret of all life.

“Well now…” Ardyn hummed. His voice was dark and thick. Heavy like the atmosphere on the night of a thunderstorm. Laden with ozone. His eyes were set to the boiling point with savage, intense desire.

He looked as if his entire world had been narrowed down to the scope of where Viola stood. For a long, long moment, his velvet eyes saw nothing else. From the upward twist of his lips, Viola thought he might kiss her right there. And if he kissed her, he would certainly not be able to stop. They would kiss, then he would pull her closer…devour her. Ravish her piece by piece—

“…Is all this for me?” Ardyn asked, wrapping a hand around her waist. He gestured to her figure from top to bottom. Indicating all of her.

“Tch!” Viola crossed her arms defiantly, but she was smirking. “You wish it was all for you.”

To be fair, they were both dressed to the nines for a variety of reasons. One, was to fit in with everyone else in London society. The other was because it felt awesome—being made to look your best. There was a certain kind of…cleansing feeling in it. And the final reason? Well. It was for each other. Ardyn wanted Viola to look at him and never look away. She wanted the exact same.

And they both knew it.

Somewhere along the way, in all of this, Ardyn and Noctis had begun to share secrets. Keeping each other’s secrets was, somehow, more intimate than plain candor. They shared that intimacy quite comfortably. Right then, there was no ocean of lies between them. They saw each other. They _wanted_. Maybe they would forget about the ball altogether—go upstairs and get started on the main show for this evening’s activities. Maybe they would never move from this sport, purely entranced by the other for the rest of time. 

Whatever secrets were still hidden beneath the surface, they didn’t matter. Not then. Not when their souls locked together in kindred need. In understanding. In love.

“Ardyn, I…” Noctis wanted to say it. He wanted to say it and make it a thing neither of them could deny. No matter what happened tonight, Noctis wanted their love to permeate everything. He wanted to wear Ardyn’s affection like an accessory. He wanted his own adoration to be laced in the older man’s scent like another layer of perfume. So that everyone—all the gentlemen and ladies at Eckhart’s tonight—would be able to smell Noctis on Ardyn. For them to know Ardyn was claimed by an affection no one could ever compete with. And vice versa.

Grinning, Ardyn shook his head before Viola could say any of that. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “My dear, I would not say anything else if I were you. If you utter another word, there is quite a good chance I might lose all control and ravage you right here. In front of your friends.” 

She shivered where she stood. Oh, she wanted that. She didn’t even care. There was heat in the pit of her stomach, a heat that only Ardyn could soothe. She wanted him to lay her on the rug in front of the fireplace and take what was his—she wanted him to cum inside her. Then she could carry a piece of him around all night. Even if his spend slipped out of her a bit as she was dancing, Viola wanted that. She wanted to feel his desire burning a hole through her for the rest of the evening—

Ignis cleared his throat. The pinkish haze of lust lingering in their vision dissolved, giving way to the harsh, dark reality of Engheld. Viola smiled sheepishly. She looked back at the servants but couldn’t really meet their eyes. Not after the thoughts she’d been entertaining the last few minutes….

“Perhaps,” Ignis began slowly (a bit awkwardly). “We should call the hansom now. Best not be late.” 

“…Quite right,” Ardyn answered. He brushed some stray bangs from his face. The tie in the back of his head could not tame his hair fully. Little strands kept trying to escape. 

“Hnh.” Caligo stood up and walked to the front door. He opened it to reveal a hansom cab waiting patiently by the gate.

It seemed one of them had thought ahead. 

“Nice work, Hawkeye.” Aranea tossed her head in approval. (Apparently she knew about Caligo’s nickname, wherever the hell he’d gotten it.) 

“Caligo, you’re a gem,” Ardyn told his ‘manservant,’ patting him on the shoulder. “And right as always.” 

He turned to Viola and extended his arm. “Shall we, Miss Gainsborough?” 

The young lady broke into a wide, dignified smile. “Yes. Let us be on our way.” 

Ignis hurried to bid the mistress farewell. He touched her elbow and gave her a meaningful look. “Good luck, my lady,” he said quickly. Lowering his voice, he added, “Don’t forget. One outward sweep with your left foot and you must compensate by turning with the right.”

Ardyn raised an eyebrow in response, overhearing but not quite understanding what they were referring to.

Viola smiled and nodded. (Actually she would do well to remember the valet’s advice. Didn’t want to make any mistakes with her dancing tonight!) “I will, Iggy. Thanks.” 

With three servants waving from the doorstep, Ardyn and Noctis packed into the hansom. It wasn’t a terribly long ride to Belgravia, but because of the lady’s wide skirts, they would need to sit rather close together. Hardly a problem.

“…Try not to get too jealous tonight, sir,” Viola hummed. Smug, in her own way.

Ardyn clicked his teeth. “I shall try, miss. To the maximum extent I am able.”

___________________________________________

_Belgravia  
_ _The Manor of Mr. and Mrs. Eckhart  
_ _23 March, 1857  
_ _Friday - Night_

The Eckhart Manor shone bright, all in lights. It seemed every gas and oil lamp in the place was lit. The walk from the front door through to the ballroom felt nearly like walking through daylight! That alone would have been a garish display of wealth….to say nothing of the grandiose interior itself. The space inside the Eckhart’s manor could have felt the entirely of Engheld dozens of times over. Possibly even the entirety of Steyliff Grove two or three times! There were so very many servants walking about. The maids offered to take Viola to the ladies’ sitting room and Ardyn to the gentleman’s hat room, but they declined. It was already getting on 9:00. They both preferred to head straight to the ballroom and begin dancing.

Viola’s nerves sparkled like firecrackers. She’d seen the Eckhart’s place before (even though it seemed more extravagant year after year, as if the Eckharts were competing with themselves), but she’d never felt so…worthy of a place like this. Noctis on the best of days seemed scruffy and wet behind the ears. His real skill showed on the dance floor, but there was little else to him that belonged among the elegance of this house. Viola, on the other hand, fit in perfectly. She floated through the halls, attached to Ardyn’s arm. Smiling, effervescent with excitement. It was warm here, comfortable and beautiful. The sound of voices echoing through a large space wafted down the halls. Many feet stamping across a wooden floor.

The sounds of a ball.

An urge to dance set Viola’s toes to scrunching inside her shoes. She squeezed Ardyn’s arm a little tighter, perfectly aware of everyone looking at her. Even the servants spared her an extra glance.

She was, after all, unknown to London society. And far too pretty to be ignored. Fortunately, she was already spoken for. By someone as unchallengeable as Ardyn. Good thing! Besides, they complimented each other. In color (Ardyn’s crimson hair and Viola’s dark red dress) and style (Ardyn stashed a white rose in his lapel to math Viola’s accoutrements).They seemed to belong together. A mystery like Ardyn deserved such a lady: Enigmatic. Laughter in her eyes. Together they were quite a pair. 

No one questioned their presence. Not too much, anyway.

They stood at the threshold of the ballroom entrance. Viola peered inside, catching glimpses of rainbow-colored pastels and black silk tailored suits. Right away she saw flowers in everyone’s hair—(goddamn, she and Aranea were right on the money!)—the honest exuberance on their faces. Everything about a ball was happy and fleetingly joyful. Everyone was laughing, flocked together in groups or pairs. Young men stood along the wall gazing curiously over at the single women in the seats near the dance floor. They would have to approach a lady and ask her to dance, which more mature men could do without batting an eye, but for some young men it was their first time. They were intimidated by the cut of the young ladies’ bodices, the rouge on their lips, the charm in their eyes. The young ladies fanned themselves—keeping their engagement cards grasped tightly in their hands—waiting eagerly for the chance to be asked. Viola saw an empty seat next to the Baronness’s daughter. Noctis knew her a bit, not too much, but enough that Viola could make polite conversation. It was her play. She gestured to Ardyn that that’s where he should lead her.

The ceiling stretched high above their heads. One would need to crane their necks to see it. The vast space between the ballroom and the limits of the house made the night seem full of endless possibilities. 

Freedom. Viola stamped her feet at the threshold like a horse at the gate. She might just run in, forgetting herself! The ball was right there in front of her eyes! 

Ardyn chuckled to himself. He was watching his lover. He knew she was itching to get in there. As if she had been born to _chassè._ Hardly any surprise there. A wealth of pleasure and deep devotion swelled up in his chest. He knew that no matter how many men his girl danced with tonight—and surely she would dance with quite a few—Viola’s true self would never be known to any of them.

He knew who she truly was. He’d seen her giving it all up to him, on her hands and knees, mouth open, drooling and crying. Ardyn was the only man in this room that could do that for her—he knew because Viola had sworn to grant only him that privilege. She’d told him she didn’t want any other man the way she wanted him. 

The power in that promise made Ardyn hard. He felt himself beginning to grow inside his tuxedo pants, filling out ever so slightly from the memory of Viola’s words when he fucked her (“Yes, please Ardyn, more! I love you!”). Her face when she came, eyes rolled back in her head, reaching ecstasy at Ardyn’s behest. So open and vulnerable. 

He’d never let anyone else see her like that. Her face, her pleasure-wracked body contorted so sweetly for him, was his and his alone. 

Let these other men dance with her. They’d never know what she hid under her clothes, how to please her _properly_. Was he jealous that anyone else could so much as lay eyes on her? Yes, of course. Especially when she looked as lovely as she did tonight! Donned in an outfit that would bring any man to his knees. Still. Ardyn would have to console himself with the knowledge that Viola might smile at them—politely, she might even laugh coquettishly in that way she had—but she would be weeping in Ardyn’s arms tonight. Tears of joy that were only for him. 

Her truth. Her truth belonged to him. He would covet that truth like a dragon covets its hoard. He covered her hand on his arm. The same way he had that day in the park, so long ago now. Such a cherished hand… 

“Are you ready, my dear Viola?” 

She turned to him with an extraordinary look in her eye. Full of challenge and eagerness and _life_. “You know I am.” 

Arm in arm, they stepped into the ballroom.

Dancing had been going on for about an hour. Ardyn and Noctis were bathed in the yellow light of the ballroom, staring out over the tall stairs to the room beneath them. They could see the red faces of the men and women who had been hard at work dancing—and oh, they were looking back at them. For a moment, all eyes were on Ardyn and Viola.

“Who is that young woman?” 

“Have I met this bloke before?”

“My goodness, a red dress like that! Where on earth did she get it?”

“Well, we must go say hello!” 

“Yes, definitely! Just as soon as they get settled!” 

The chatter was favorable. Confident smiles on their faces, Ardyn and Viola descended the stairs and traversed the crowded floor. Ardyn whisked Viola to the plush seat she had indicated before and gracefully helped her sit down. He left to go get her an engagement card (this was the card where all gentlemen must write their name if they wished to reserve Viola’s partnership in any of the dances, which were listed by number). She could hear, and even feel, the whispers as she sat basking in all the attention.

“Hello, miss.” The Baroness’s daughter was the first to address her. She was surrounded by a thin ring of young ladies, friends, and they were all staring at Viola behind their fans. “Are you from out of town?”

Viola turned to them with a delighted, calm face. “Good evening. Why, yes. I’m from Sussex, near the Wealds.”

The ladies’ eyes bulged. They fixed their eyes Viola’s garments, trying to find some trace of the country bumpkin she was claiming to be. But of course, Viola held herself like a true lady, top to bottom. Her accent was pure London—no trace of any dialect. However, it must be true that she was from Sussex…because who would lie to make themselves into a farm-raised hick? 

“Well!” The Barronness’s daughter leaned closer to her, smiling like she had won something. (Her dress was an expensive mix of soft pink tulle and silk, diamonds strung around her neck. Not so complimentary as it was a show of wealth.) “You must find London so very exciting!”

“It is, yes,” Viola said, smiling kindly. She liked the pink carnations in the other woman’s hair, they were a nice touch. Her lady’s maid was clearly very skilled. “Quite exciting.”

The other ladies simpered. Perhaps laughing at Viola, perhaps sharing in a nice laugh at the capricious nature of London. The Baroness’s daughter giggled airily and touched her satin-gloved hand to her chest in a show of sincerity. 

“Ah, so! You must come talk to us if you have any…doubts about the particulars here. Eckhart’s must seem like a completely different world to you! Confusing and gallant.” She could have made that sound insulting, but she just narrowly avoided it. The words were enough to let Viola know her place—that even though she was beautiful, she was still beneath the regular London ladies. A greenhorn by their standards.

Viola was fine with that. She just wanted to dance. Besides, it was actually a compliment. If these girls were working hard to show Viola her place, then they must have felt threatened. That meant Viola more than looked the part of a sophisticated lady. She knew she’d won anyway, just in making them feel like they needed to set the record straight. But she had no desire to dredge up any sort of animosity. 

“Thank you, miss,” Viola followed quickly. “I appreciate your hospitality. My name is Viola Gainsborough and it’s a pleasure. I’m quite glad you all, as kind as you are, could be my first acquaintances here.” 

The other ladies’ faces softened when they saw that she was polite. Nobody hated anything more than a gorgeous, stuck-up girl. Seeing a weakness in her—her background, obviously, and her unassuming nature—the young ladies began to like Viola right away. They flocked a little closer to her. 

“Yes, you’re quite welcome!”

“You must come to us for everything!”

“Do watch Lord Norrington’s hands, dear. He tends to get a bit handsy on the galloping numbers. Especially after a few drinks.”

“Quite so.” 

“Oh but your lady’s maid should be commended! What wonderful work she’s done!”

“Thank you. Yours too!”

They chatted amicably for a bit until Ardyn returned. When he graciously parted through the crowd of young women, they all took a collective step back. He was clearly there with Viola. They fanned themselves excitedly, watching every interaction with pure glee. A young lady from Sussex and an older man! How delightful!

Knowing they were being watched, Ardyn handed Viola her engagement card. She smiled at him, fighting a sputtering snort when she saw that Ardyn had already written his name in several places. The next dance, the last, and one in the middle. 

“You know, sir,” Viola began slowly, her eyes twinkling with affection and teasing alike. “That is it rude to request a lady’s hand so often throughout the evening.”

“Oh, no, miss!” Ardyn defiantly smirked right back at her. Nothing but politeness in his tone. “That is not my intention. And surely you can spare but three dances for me. It is all I ask.” 

The ladies around the Baroness’s daughter twittered excitedly. Three whole dances! What romance! Almost improper! 

Delicious. 

Viola was smiling harder than she’d ever smiled before. She was so very happy in this moment. In fact, she could not remember the last time she’d been unequivocally happy like this. To have Ardyn breathing down her neck for a dance, not caring a fig for propriety. The envy of girls as high in society as the Baroness’s daughter! Good gossip crackling in the air like oncoming lightning. 

Seeing that overjoyed face, Ardyn could do nothing but bow and offer the lady his hand. The ballroom itself was not worthy of seeing such a look on Viola’s face. She was the sun (bright and warm) and the moon (fair and reticent) all at once. A treasure.

His treasure. 

The floor master signaled the orchestra to begin the next dance. Everyone quickly scrambled into position on the dance floor. Viola’s heart raced as she held herself upright in Ardyn’s arms. Their position was perfect, his hand on her waist. Her hand in his. Mirroring everyone else down to a science. 

Now if she could just stay focused…even though Ardyn’s hands were so warm, as always. Much warmer than Ignis’s. This was nothing like practicing in his bedroom. The stifling air of the ballroom could not make it to her brain fast enough. She felt dizzy with nerves and excitement, breathing heavily.

The music started. Right on cue, they swayed in time. 

Ardyn leaned closer. “Relax, darling,” he whispered. “You are doing famously. No need to be nervous.”

“It’s hard to do this backwards…” Noctis gasped. He was so focused on his feet that he forgot to raise his voice like a woman’s! Luckily no one noticed because the music was playing loudly.

Ardyn just smiled, pressing his hand into Noctis’s side to guide him through the steps. “Not to worry. If you trip, I’ll make it seem like I stepped on your skirts. Apologize profusely. Deflect all blame onto me.” 

“Tch, no, you shouldn’t.” Noctis curled closer to Ardyn instinctually. So very flattered by the suggestion. “You would look boorish…”

The older man laughed in his throat. “Would I still have your hand at the end of the night?”

“Of course you would!” 

“Then I have nothing to be concerned about.” Ardyn hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps boorishness becomes me. You never know.”

Noctis was lost in the golden pools of Ardyn’s eyes. He’d only look away if he must. But in that moment he felt like the most loved person in the world, to have the attention of a man like this. The steadfast devotion. His chest melted into soft pudding. He wanted to bury his face in Ardyn’s neck. 

…He refrained. The first dance was a gallop. Their conversation ceased once the galloping kicked up and they needed to focus on dancing with the rest of the group. 

Viola felt much more confident in knowing that Ardyn would not let her fall flat on her face. Even if she messed this up completely and they tumbled to ground like rubes, then they’d both be on the floor! What an embarrassing mess that would be.

But they’d be there together. 

Deciding to roll with it—no matter what happened—as had been her first plan, Viola let go of the nerves and surrendered to the sheer fun. Everyone was smiling on the dance floor—the moves were a bit silly, on purpose, to make everyone lighten up. Seeing Ardyn gallop with the rest of the men made Viola want to laugh out loud. He looked so unselfconscious! As if he knew the moves were ridiculous, as did all the men, but he didn’t care. He looked back at her knowingly. Grinning. Like he delighted in making her smile. 

Once the first dance was over, the last _chassè_ complete, Viola doubled over at the waist in a fit of giggles. Relief (she had not tripped even once!) mixed with good humor. Ardyn escorted her back to her seat and left to get her a glass of water.

Now Viola would need to find a partner for the second dance. Once Ardyn left her side, she found that she had absolutely no trouble in that regard; several men approached her at once.

“Would you do me the honor, miss?” 

“Shall I take a look at your card to see when you might be able to oblige me?” 

“May I have the next round?”

“And me, miss? Would you be so kind?” 

And so, Viola found herself engaged for the next four dances right in a row. She had not been expecting so much interest from the other men…Okay, yes, in her fantasies she had hoped, but. To have the attention of so many gentlemen in real life! It was a thrill. She happily accepted them all. 

Ardyn passed Viola a glass of water, nodding happily at her suddenly full card. He wanted to kiss her—and she wanted to kiss him back—but that would have been quite the scandal. Unforgivable, really. So, Ardyn just smiled at her serenely and left to try his own luck finding partners for the ensuing dances.

Viola knew he would have resounding success. With such charms as he possessed. She might have been jealous, except she knew something that none of these other girls knew: Underneath Ardyn’s clothes was a feral jungle cat waiting to pounce. None of them could handle him the way she could.

And he knew that too.

So she was content. 

——————-

Viola happily danced the night away. She danced with men young and old. Some were too embarrassed to look her in the eye when they put their hand on her waist. Others looked at her way too boldly, crudely she might have said. But they all made polite enough conversation. And once the song had ended, they bowed to each other politely and trotted off. Anything else would be entirely too presumptuous. 

There were many people Noctis recognized at Eckhart’s that night. Naturally. He knew almost everyone. But almost no one knew Viola. There was a freedom and a disappointment in that. To be obscure, without duty, but to be…sort of lonely. 

After a while, Viola saw a pair of glasses and a tall, slim build that she rather recognized. Threshton stood near the drinks table with a handful of blokes making quiet conversation. 

At last, an acquaintance! 

“Daniel!” Viola rushed up to him, gathering her skirts so she did not trip.

When he heard his name, Threshton turned around in confusion. He laid eyes on Viola and very nearly spilled his drink. At first he was dumbstruck—unable to say anything—and then he stuttered horribly, trying to say too much at once.

“V-vio, ah, Miss Gainsbor—my good—you look…!” 

Laughing happily, Viola grabbed Threshton’s hands and pulled him to the dance floor. “Dance with me!” She forced them into position. Luckily the next dance was a couple’s dance so the moves were not too complicated. By now Viola was comfortable enough with a waltz. 

The same could not be said for Threshton, unfortunately. He tripped over his feet several times. Cursing himself quietly, in a very rude fashion. He seemed so very frustrated with himself. Viola had to catch him a few times so that he could stay upright. This only made him look more ashamed.

“I…apologize for my lack of skill, Miss Gainsborough,” Threshton mumbled darkly once the dance had finished. “But you took my hand so suddenly and I had no time to practice…” 

It seemed Threshton had not enjoyed much luck with the ladies that night. Perhaps his reputation as a clubfoot proceeded him. What a shame!

Viola smoothed out his rumpled suit jacket. “Not at all, Daniel. I’m so happy we could meet again and enjoy each other’s company in a dance. Thank you for indulging me.” 

Threshton coughed awkwardly and adjusted his glasses. Apparently he had not forgotten Viola at all since Steyliff. Perhaps he had been…entertaining notions of her ever since. It was sad, in a way, because they had no chance. But Viola took it as a compliment. She passed some more time with him by the drinks table. (They spoke of his wife for a moment. Evidently they would proceeding with a divorce. For the better, certainly!)

Afterwards, Viola was engaged in a few more dances with some of Threshton’s friends. They were all very polite and treated her gently. She would have expected nothing less of the men in Threshton’s company. They were rather like him.

Towards the middle of the night, Ardyn’s turn to dance came up again. Viola had seen him here and there, dancing with ladies or making large groups of gentlemen guffaw with some (no doubt scandalous) stories. He was working the room as naturally as always. Here, the ballroom, was Ardyn Izunia’s natural element. 

She told him as much when they danced together for the second time. 

“Well, I’m flattered that you would say so, my lady. Thank you.” Ardyn’s mouth twitched in amusement. He leaned in a bit closer. “But there can be no mistake: _You_ are the belle of the ball tonight, Miss Gainsborough. In a class entirely your own.” 

She blushed. The darkness in his voice crept up her back and made her shiver. She could tell just from the tone that Ardyn had been watching her all night. If she fitted her leg in between his own, she might very well encounter a distinct ramrod in his breeches. The thought was exciting…and rather inappropriate.

Her own ramrod fluttered in response. Smarting as she imagined the things Ardyn wanted to do to her right now. And oh, she would let him. Maybe they could sneak into one of the many rooms of the manor for some private time…hardly a first, even though it was so very wrong.

The night went on. Somehow Ardyn and Noctis managed to keep it in their pants (and skirts, respectively). 

Viola ran into another familiar face once the hour became quite late. Evelyn Beasly sat on the sidelines with a gaggle of young ladies equally as beautiful as her. She wore a golden dress this time—much more flattering than green—with a red rose in the center of her chest. Her auburn hair shimmered in the bright light of the ballroom. 

“Evie!” Viola called, trotting to her side. 

When they made eye contact, Evelyn extended her hands to Viola. They laughed merrily and clasped hands like good friends. There was a particular kind of joy in recognizing a female friend at a ball. Seeing what kind of work they put into their outfit. Rushing to compliment them. Excited for the other when they imagined the kind of attention they would get.

“Viola! Oh my—you look _smashing_!”

“So do you!” Viola really meant that, too. Evelyn’s gold dress suited her perfectly. She seemed to know that. So she glowed with a kind of natural confidence that Viola was very glad to see on her friend’s face.

“Come meet everyone!”

Evelyn took Viola by the hand and introduced her to all the other young women standing around. They were her own age. Polite enough. They seemed a little unsure what to make of Viola, since she was a new person. Well, new and quite striking! The only person at Eckhart’s wearing a red and black dress. How should they treat her…? 

Unconcerned by any of that, Evelyn spoke seriously for a moment. “Are you here with Mr. Izunia?” 

“Yes, I am.” She glanced around the crowd trying to spot his telltale crimson hair. She succeeded, of course—Ardyn was quite hard to miss—and Evelyn followed her eyes to the man. 

He was standing around a group of young women. One of their hands in his own. Delighting them with some (hopefully not too obscene) conversation. Far from being jealous, Viola almost wanted to laugh. Ardyn just couldn’t help himself, could he? He had to tell dirty stories to whatever young women he found! It was exactly how they’d met. What a fiend! 

“Hmm.” Evelyn spared Viola a worried look. “Keep an eye on that one, won’t you?”    
She nodded. “I will. Definitely.” Then an idea struck her. “Oh, but you must dance with Daniel!” She pulled Evelyn towards the drinks table, certain they might find him standing there in helpless fixation. 

“Mr. Threshton…?” Evelyn adjusted her hair surreptitiously as Viola dragged her along. 

She wanted to look her best! Viola giggled. So there was a bit of natural excitement in Evelyn at the thought of Threshton. Great! She was certain Evelyn would not mind a bit of awkward dancing. If anything, the Beasly daughter might find the whole thing hilarious. After all, she’d certainly danced with many men before. Some boring and some interesting. But finding a man as careful and hopelessly awkward as Threshton was a rare treat. 

Interrupting whatever conversation Threshton had been having (indeed he was still lurking in the same spot), Viola passed Evelyn’s hand to him with wide, knowing eyes. 

“You should take a look at Evie’s engagement card,” Viola announced. She made sure their hands were touching (a small scandal on its own).

Evelyn withdrew right away, blushing fiercely. “Viola…” she whispered, feigning annoyance.

Threston coughed again. He was quite floored by the sight Evelyn made in her gold dress. He swallowed hard and said, “Miss Beasly. How nice to see you again. You look…marvelous.” 

Evelyn turned a shade rather similar to the rose on her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Threshton. The…pleasure is all mine.” 

Seeing sparks in the air, Viola pranced away. Best leave them to their own devices. During the next dance, she found Daniel and Evelyn engaged with each other as dancing partners. Daniel looked a bit less awkward than before. Maybe it had helped to have some practice with Viola first. Evelyn smiled merrily the entire time.

Ah. Viola was quite pleased with herself! She better be invited to their wedding.

A few more dances passed in raucous tunes. The orchestra changed it up regularly, keeping it interesting. Some women had a difficult time keeping up—it was a fair bit of exertion, dancing in dresses as heavy as theirs! And the ballroom was nothing short of stifling as the night went on. But Viola wanted to dance to each and every tune.

Who knew when she might get the chance after this?

The night was rapidly turning into day. It must have close to 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. The party would go until daybreak, maybe a bit afterwards, and then the lords and ladies would retire home for a nice bath and quick snooze for the rest of the morning. Or whatever other activities they found enjoyable. An all-night party was par for the course now that the Season was officially started. People would do well to get their all-nighter chops up, because the rest of the Season’s balls would be much the same.

Noctis hoped he’d get another chance to go to a ball with Ardyn. Just one more, maybe? Before things in his life got too serious…before his father’s will tore him down and took over the rest of Noctis’s plans for the Season. The excitement of the oncoming months was muted by the fact that Noctis would indeed be engaged for most of it, needing to up his game if he was going to continue pretending to court Luna. Chances were he had already hurt his chances by not dancing with Luna as Noctis tonight…

…but he deserved one night, didn’t he? One night of happiness where he could just be himself. Even if there was to be no second ball in his future, it was only 4:00 in the morning. The party wasn’t over yet!

Noctis wished he could stretch the hours out. Indefinitely. Keep the sun from rising somehow. Forget reality—indeed the ‘reality’ in his life had rapidly become Noctis’s greatest fiction. These few moments where he could dance with whom he pleased and enjoy himself were the highest level of honesty he could reach.

A shock of blond hair caught his eye from a distance. Corn yellow. Incorrigibly fluffy. Noctis closed in on the sight automatically. No mistaking it.

Forgetting all her troubles, Viola hurried over to Prompto. He was drinking a glass of champagne with a bit of trouble, sort of awkwardly handling the long stem of the glass. Typical. Noctis had seen him do very much the same countless times before.

Her heart fluttered with happiness as she laid eyes on Prompto. It would definitely be…strained at first. For Prompto to see her like this. He hadn’t seen Viola since October, after all, back when this all started. And he hadn’t been quite comfortable with it.

But Viola wanted him to see. She wanted to share this piece of herself with Prompto. The last time they spoke, Prompto seemed to be encouraging her to be herself. He seemed more…accepting. If he wanted to accept Viola, the best thing he could do was see her like this and not freak out. 

Time to lay it all on the table.

“Mr. Argentum.” Viola approached him from behind. Already well inside his personal space.

Slightly startled, Prompto whirled around. He nearly coughed up his entire sip of champagne when he saw Viola. At first, he was assaulted by the sight of such a gorgeous woman. He flushed head to toe and forgot how to speak (his usual reaction). Then, as Viola said nothing, Prompto looked a little harder. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the fancy dress and make-up…

Utter shock drained his entire face of any color. Pale as a sheet, Prompto stuttered in a strained whisper, “….N…Noct?” 

Viola’s smile turned into a grin. She held her arms out the side, displaying all of herself. “I am Miss Viola Gainsborough. Pleasure to see you this evening.” 

The complete amazement on Prompto’s face turned to disbelief. He blinked hard a few times and shook his head. “Y-you…” 

Viola wished she knew for sure what he was about say. Either he was going to compliment her—saying she looked great, which she did—or he was going to turn away from all this in overwhelming confusion. Telling her she was crazy or something. The fate of this conversation could easily have gone either way.

Fortunately, the floor master was signaling the orchestra again. Viola put a gloved finger to Prompto’s lips. Stopping him in his tracks.

“Would you care to dance this round with me, Mr. Argentum?” She was free after all.

Prompto’s eyes might have popped out of his head. “Uh…”

Before he could answer, Viola took his hand and led him—speechless—to the dance floor. It was a couple’s dance coming up, thankfully. Something easy. A little slower. A chance for them to adjust.

Even so, Prompto looked like he might die when he put his hand on Viola’s waist. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, steadying himself. When he opened his eyes again (Viola’s face was a little apprehensive), he offered her a weak smile.

“Like I said,” the hesitant gentleman began. “Once you get an idea in your head, there’s just no stopping you.”

Viola smiled a bit. Even though it was only a small bit of acceptance—not so much an appreciation of Viola, but more a show of respect for Noctis—she would take it. “You’re right about that, Prom.” 

They danced for a bit longer. As the tune wore on, Prompto got a little more comfortable. The space between them lessened somewhat. Prompto was able to lead her more or less properly by the end. His face relaxed and he made a few jokes, even. They were forced, but Viola could tell he was trying. 

He was trying. That meant a lot. Hell, Prompto even twirled her towards the end of the mazurka. Leading her into a perfect _chassè._

When the dance was over, they walked back to the seats. Taking a break. Viola looked around for Ardyn, but she couldn’t seem to find him. Weird. He’d been sort of hanging around in her peripheral vision all night. Never more than a few yards away (as if on principle). Perhaps the ballroom had gotten more crowded and he was blocked by a group of people.

She sipped the champagne Prompto offered her. “Is Cindy here tonight?” 

Prompto’s freckled face clouded. He glanced nervously across the ballroom. “Yeah. She’s here.” 

Viola followed his eyes and found Cindy leaning against a wall, talking animatedly to another woman. Well, at least Cindy was dressed like a lady tonight. Her ballgown was powder blue with three tiers of flounces in the skirts. No adornments in her hair or around her neck. Pretty but kind of plain. Still, Cindy looked like she was having a rather good time conversing with the young lady next to her. Another fair skinned blonde…

…Oh. Viola stiffened when she realized it was Luna. 

Luna was wearing the same lavender dress she had worn on New Year’s. It would have been a shame for any lady to wear the same dress twice, especially on two important occasions with mostly the same people in attendance. Except Luna looked so striking in lavender. Her round shoulders gleamed tantalizingly as they poked out of collar. Not only that—she was laughing happily at whatever Cindy was saying to her. Honestly amused, in a way Noctis rarely ever saw. 

She seemed enthralled by Cindy’s company. 

Viola watched curiously. She felt something…distinct in the situation. An intuition in her gut. When Cindy rubbed her hand casually but affectionately across Luna’s shoulder, her suspicions were confirmed.

Oh. Well. So. Then. Viola pressed a finger to her nose—just in case she got a nosebleed as she considered those two ladies behind closed doors. Luna, bare and so, so pale in coming dawn, spread out for Cindy who would know exactly what to do with her…

_Don’t think about it, don’t think about it!_ Noctis knew he shouldn’t go there! Otherwise he might never be able to look Luna in the eye without imagining it! And he very well might be completely wrong, a pervert who read signals were there really were none. More accustomed to Ardyn’s ways than he probably should be (Ardyn, who saw the dirtiest side of all people). 

Viola glanced nervously back to Prompto. He was gulping down more champagne. Confused and a little…hurt. Viola had no idea what was going through his head at that moment, and this was not the right place to ask. 

“Prom…” she said slowly, rising to her feet. “Don’t worry. It…it’ll be okay. I know it.” She wished she hadn’t wavered there, but.

“Yeah.” Prompto drained the rest of his glass. “Yeah. You’re right.” He looked far from convinced.

Shit. Noctis wished he knew how to help. He wished he could go up and talk to Luna, as Viola, like this. Except it was way too much of a risk. If Luna recognized him, or if Cindy did…what then? He’d be at their mercy! And he just couldn’t afford to entrust his freedom—damn, his neck, too, they could send him to the gallows—to them without knowing first how they would react. It wasn’t fair to push something like this onto Luna and Cindy all of a sudden. 

Hell, they probably had enough to figure out on their own tonight. Just the two of them.

No, don’t think about it. Jesus. Noctis filed those thoughts away for later. (Definitely something he wanted to revisit, just not _now_ of all times.)

Viola’s hand hovered awkwardly behind Prompto. She wanted to pat his shoulder in sympathy or something but she was not sure the gesture would be welcome. He might flinch at the idea of being touched by a man wearing women’s clothes…or…maybe not, but…Viola couldn’t be sure, so…

Besides it was time to leave. Any longer than this and Viola might risk being seen by Luna or Cindy and recognized. She hoped Prompto understood that, but it seemed like her friend was already in deep despair. So she curtseyed to him politely and made her way across the ballroom. As far away from Luna as possible.

He really should find Ardyn. Where had he gone off to? 

She searched the entire ballroom for him. Corner to corner. He was nowhere to be found. Shouldn’t he be gathering his partner for the next dance? There were still a few more numbers before the last song. Yet, even when the floor master signaled the beginning of the new number (the first one Viola sat out), she could not find Ardyn anywhere. Not on the dance floor nor on the sidelines.

Okay. Now she was starting to get a little worried. 

A woman was not permitted to leave the ballroom without an escort. She thought about dragging one of her friends over so she could check the hallways or the lobby for Ardyn. Maybe he had gone to the smoking room for a spot of brandy? Or to the gentleman’s dressing room to freshen up?

Not likely. Ardyn had made it clear for the first several hours of the night that he was not liable to leave Viola alone. That much was clear from their inconspicuous but close proximity. And if he had stepped out, wouldn’t he have told Viola where he was going?

Maybe he had just gone to the lavatory. Surely Ardyn did not need to alert Viola every time he went to the restroom. Except, she had been missing him for nearly twenty minutes including the last song (she hadn’t seen Ardyn when she was dancing with Prompto). Did it take that long to use the bathroom?

Anxiousness jumped up in Viola’s throat. She wished she could calm down, look at this rationally (this was probably no big deal, not everything needed to be a big deal, right?). Only…something felt wrong. 

The ballroom’s temperature seemed to rise impossibly high. From expectedly stifling to suddenly unbearable. Viola grew more frantic as she realized she might very well have to find an escort to leave the ballroom and search…but all her friends were busy with their own affairs. And Viola did not want to explain that Ardyn was prone to fits of…vapors, or nerves or whatever. She did not expect anyone to understand, and speaking of her lover’s weakness felt like a betrayal.

But he was likely to walk off suddenly if he’d been attacked by one of his ‘dizzy spells.’ He’d done it before. In Steyliff. Viola had spent a good deal of the night searching the house for him, only to find Ardyn in an empty room staring at an unlit fireplace. As if he were reading shadows on the wall. Listening to their stories….

No. Viola must believe what her heart was telling her. Something was wrong about all this. Ardyn might be in dire straits. She needed to find him. If that meant putting one of her friends in an uncomfortable position, so be it. 

Threshton was sitting out this dance as well. It seemed he’d reached his maximum capacity for dancing. Viola rushed up to him and said she needed to go to the ladies’ room, but couldn’t find her escort anywhere. Would he mind taking her? 

Although Daniel looked uncomfortable with the idea of Viola coming to him of all people, he agreed. He walked her to the entrance and took her beyond the threshold.

“Wait here for me, please,” Viola asked. Thank goodness she had thought to call upon Threshton of all people, who wouldn’t question it. He probably wouldn’t want to help her find the bathroom anyway. 

She trotted down the main hallway, glancing through each open doorway in the process. Most of the rooms were either empty or closed. Would Ardyn be behind a closed door? Possibly. Viola pressed her ear to one of the doors in desperation. She heard nothing.

Nearly running now, Viola hiked up her skirts and kept searching. It occurred to her that she could not possibly search the entire manor. It was way too large…she’d be searching well into the daytime if she even tried!

Oh God. If Ardyn was really in trouble, she might never find him!

Fuck fuck fuck…heart racing, Viola ran through the hall in a blind rush. Where could she start, she had no clues!

“You devil. You demon. You… _animal_.”

Voices emerged from somewhere nearby. Viola came to an immediate halt. She looked around for any sign of people—there. In the corner, on the other side of the hall in a small enclave meant for the servants. There were two figures standing, staring at each other. 

One was clearly Ardyn. Red hair, the same black tailcoat with the white rose Viola had pinned to his chest herself earlier that evening. His back was against the wall and he was being spoken to by another man—a rather old gentleman.

“Why in God’s name have you come back to London?” 

The other man was much shorter than Ardyn. Viola could not see his face. He had wispy white hair and age spots lined across his forehead. His bony hands were clenched at his side. Shaking. He spoke to Ardyn in a low, breathy hiss. Laced with venom.

With hatred.

Viola approached them slowly. The look in Ardyn’s face was enough to give her pause. 

Not only was Ardyn pale and stricken by a look of boundless pain, the shadows on his face had grown long. His amber eyes appeared completely black in this light, engulfed by darkness. His plush lips were drawn thin. Trembling. 

The hatred was clearly mutual.

In that moment, Ardyn was a bowstring ready to snap. A pistol with a finger on the trigger. A crystal glass teetering on the edge of a table, about to fall. 

He was about to lose control. Noctis did not know what would happen once Ardyn lost it. But he knew without a second thought that it would be better if they never found out.

“You….beast. _Murderer_.”

The word hit Noctis like a slap to the face. He faltered for a moment. This man was slinging all kinds of vindictive slurs at Ardyn—so far Ardyn was taking it. But how much longer could he last?

Murderer? Was Ardyn a…?

Shaking the thought from his head, Noctis realized that he would have to save all his questions for later. Right now he needed to put an end to this before it got any worse. Ardyn looked well past the point of no return. That same look in his eye from the hunt—a man with prey in his midst.

Yup. Time to go.

“Excuse me.” Viola approached the older gentleman and made to brush past him on her way to Ardyn’s side. 

Startled—apparently he had not heard her footsteps—the old man leapt to the side. He stared at Viola with a gnarled face. His silver eyes that pierced Viola to the soul and clawed at her with a kind of cruelty that looked like it had been perfected over the years. 

Giving the man an odd look (of course, she had no idea what any of this was about), Viola walked by him, straight to her lover. She gripped Ardyn’s shoulder. He was looking beyond her. In the vicinity of the old man, but not…quite. As if there was something else playing out in his mind’s eye and Ardyn was watching helplessly. 

“Ardyn…” Viola grabbed his hand. As expected, his skin was cold and clammy. Fingers trembling in her touch. 

He still did not see her.

She pressed herself against him, heedless of the strange old man watching. She stroked his face with her gloved hand, trying to force him to look at her. She repeated his name once, then twice. Barely above a whisper. 

Ardyn blinked. His eyes came into focus. He looked at Viola with a touch of recognition and she smiled. 

“It’s me.” She took him by the hand again. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ardyn sucked in a breath. He looked as if he was only just beginning to remember where he was. He nodded confusedly at her, letting himself be led. 

“Miss.” The old man hissed in Viola’s direction now. “I urge you to listen to me! Do not get involved with this man. He will lead you to nothing but defilement, death possibly. He is not whom he appears, believe me—”

Viola brought Ardyn out of the enclave into the main hallway. Before she left, she faced the silver-eyed gentleman (whose mouth was wet with spittle), and said, “I appreciate your concern, sir. You must have him confused with someone else.” 

Baffled by her obvious dismissal, the man reared his head back in rage. “No! You foolish girl, listen to me—”

“Thank you. Good night.” She turned away from him. There was much more she would like to say—part of her wanted to punch this geezer right in the nose, though she knew that would have been rather uncalled for—but she realized a retreat was much wiser than a fight right now. 

“Mark my words!” The old man continued, yelling after them. “If I see you again, _Lucis_ , I will have you in irons! Or better yet, I’ll…kill you with my own two hands!” 

Viola fought the urge to look back. She was leading a wordless Ardyn, who looked like each step required a giant amount of effort. He was slowing down but they needed to be hurrying! Kill? Shit! This guy wasn’t fucking joking! 

They needed to leave. Now. 

Technically the main entrance was behind them. That was the fastest exit. But there was no way in hell Viola would turn around now—not with that horrible old man waiting for them back there. So she would have to find the servants’ entrance. Luckily she’d used it in the past. Once. That time she’d gotten laid by one of the ladies from the ball, whose name she couldn’t remember now.

They passed Threshton on their way to the servants’ entrance. He took one look at Ardyn and saw something was amiss. The lady was practically carrying her gentleman, most of his weight learned against her. 

Quite the sight. A lady in full ballgown ushering a grown man twice her age out of the manor.

“Daniel…” Viola’s eyes were wide with fright. “My sincere apologies. Mr. Izunia seems to have taken ill suddenly. We must take our leave.”

“Good God, man,” Threshton said to Ardyn. “You’re pale as a ghost! Are you alright?”

Arydn huffed but said nothing. He glanced away, that grievous look swirling in his eyes.

“Will you…help me take him to the front?” Viola asked. She knew it was wrong to beg any more of Threshton’s help. But these were desperate times.

“The entrance is that way.” Threshton gestured behind her.

“No!” She startled him. “Not that way. There’s another way. Take his arm, please. Help me!” 

Seeing that this was serious—and well beyond his depths—Threshton immediately rose to the occasion. He nodded sincerely. “Yes. Alright, old chap, tally ho.” He slung Ardyn’s arm over his shoulder and shuffled him behind Viola as she led them to the servants’ entrance.

Dawn was just beginning to break. It must be getting close to 5 or 6 in the morning. Viola had lost track of time. When the cool early morning air hit her, she felt finally like she could breathe.

She wanted to put as much distance between them and that wretched old man as possible.

Threshton called a hansom. One arrived right away—they had been waiting for partygoers to be returning home, after all. Viola and Daniel helped Ardyn into the carriage and then Threshton helped Viola in after him. 

Before they left, Viola found herself again at a loss for words. “Once again, Daniel, I…don’t know how to thank you.” 

He smiled. “Not to worry, Miss Gainsborough. I shall take your friendship as thanks enough.” 

She clutched the necklace around her throat, full of appreciation. “You are too kind. Now go, back to the ball with you. Go find Miss Beasly. Call on her again, will you?” 

Thresthon grinned widely. It seemed he had become wise to Viola’s scheming. And he had no problem with it all. “You know, miss, I just might.” 

“Good.” Well. At least Daniel and Evelyn’s evening had not been thwarted. One small victory there. 

As the hansom pulled away, Noctis turned his attention back to Ardyn. He cupped the older man’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

“You okay…?” Yeah, he knew Ardyn was not okay. But still. Noctis wanted to say something. He needed Ardyn to be okay! 

Because those were some rather serious accusations that old man had thrown at him. At them both, really.

Still Ardyn said nothing.

“…Who was that man?” Noctis wanted to hold Ardyn until all this pain left him. Except he knew now—he could finally see—that there was far too much suffering inside Ardyn for it to go away any time soon. There were levels of pain. Things that Ardyn did not touch. Things that sent him to this place. An unspeakable place.

“….He must have been watching me for most of the night.” Ardyn spoke, but his voice was muffled. Mostly to himself. “I went to use the lavatory and I felt someone following me. When I turned around he was there.” 

“Who _is_ he?” Noctis demanded.

Ardyn sucked in air between his teeth. He was quiet for a long, long while. He didn’t speak again until they were almost back at Kingston Upon Thames. 

Then, he said it. In a low, tired tone. “Iedolas Aldercapt. That’s his name.” 

Noctis mediated on the name. Did he know it? He sort of recognized Aldercapt; they were a mildly prominent family. Iedolas might have been in the House of Lords for some years before he retired. Noctis thought he could remember a name like that. But Aldercapt had been out of the political scene for at least two years now, if Noctis remembered correctly.

“How does he know you?” Noctis asked, laying his head on Ardyn’s shoulder. 

“Hmm.”

It was all Ardyn would say until they reached Engheld.

________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames  
_ _24 March, 1857  
_ _Saturday - Dawn_

“Let’s get him upstairs,” Noctis said as soon as he walked into Engheld with Ardyn in tow. By now the older man was semi-coherent, but walking still looked like it took quite a bit of strength.

Caligo was the only one waiting up for them. Ignis and Aranea had gone to bed, with instructions to be rung if their masters returned. There was no time for that now. So Caligo alone helped Ardyn and Noctis up main staircase. They threw the older man on the bed and took off his tailcoat and breeches. When he was laying there in only his underclothes, they decided to let him be. 

Ardyn’s eyes were closed. But he did not look like he was asleep. 

“Will you get Aranea for me?” Noctis asked Caligo. Again the manservant nodded. He went to fetch her from the lower quarters. 

This night had not ended the way Noctis hoped it would. 

He waited for Aranea in the other bedroom. When she got there, she helped him off with his clothes. This time Caligo helped with the dress, since he was already standing there. It didn’t feel weird being in his underclothes in front of Caligo (the man had seen him in much less, let’s be honest, over the past few months, and he knew that Noctis was really a man). 

“What’s happened?” Aranea asked when they were alone. She helped her mistress into night clothes. A light slip, a robe, and some panties. That’s all. 

“I…don’t know,” Noctis answered. 

He was being honest. He knew they had encountered a man from Ardyn’s past, an old man that had quite literally threatened to kill Ardyn the next time he saw him. But the why? Noctis had no idea. 

Sensing that there was something else going on, Aranea left Noctis to his own thoughts and went back downstairs for a few more hours’ sleep. 

Noctis should very well do the same. He should be in bed and then up again at a more reasonable hour. In time to return home and face his father’s barrage of questions about his activities at the ball. 

He should.

Fuck that.

Noctis crept back into Ardyn’s room. His lover was laying underneath the covers, wrapped up in blankets like he was trying to shut the rest of the world out. 

“Ardyn.” 

No response.

Noctis shut the door behind him. He was not going to take silence as an answer this time around. He couldn’t stand it. Not anymore! They had gone on like this long enough.

Noctis needed some kind of reaction out of this man. Whether or not he got to the bottom of whatever horrid affair this turned out to be, Noctis didn’t even care. He just needed _his_ Ardyn back. He wouldn’t leave him alone in this darkness any longer. He refused. 

So Noctis pulled the covers back. He met with no resistance. Just a pile of messy red hair and rumpled clothes. Saying nothing, Noctis began undressing Ardyn further. He pulled everything away from his lover, his shirt, the undershirt, the pants…until Ardyn was naked beneath him. Just laying there.

“Ardyn,” he repeated.

Nothing.

Noctis flipped Ardyn over so that the older man was lying on his back. He would get some reaction—even if he had to use every trick at his disposal. 

“Ardyn, please. Talk to me.” He ran his hands down Ardyn’s bare, smooth chest. Caressing him. Stroking the flesh around Ardyn’s middle, the hard abs in the center. 

“Please.” 

Noctis laid down on his stomach. Face to face with Ardyn’s soft manhood. “Please,” he said again. His breath ghosted his lover’s member, gliding along the tip. 

It twitched in response. Yes, finally. Something.

Noctis kissed the head of Ardyn’s prick. Gently. Not forcing him, looking for any sign of discomfort. He kissed along the entire circumference of that cock-head. Worshipping it. Trying to kiss the life back into the most intimate part of the man he loved.

“Mmm, Noct…” 

At last, Ardyn spoke. 

“Do you like that?” Noctis whispered. He glanced up and saw that Ardyn was looking down at him. Meeting his gaze. Focused on what Noctis was doing—no longer staring idly at the wall or wherever. 

Yes. This was what they needed. Noctis kept going.

He stuck out his tongue and gave little kittenish licks to the tip. Right on the slit, then down along the crown. Coaxing a bit of liquid out of the stubborn prick. Bringing his lover to full mast, even as he tried to seemed indifferent.

“Noct. What are you doing…?” Ardyn’s voice was low and raspy. 

“I’m tasting you…” Noctis sucked very, very lightly on that cock-head. Just enough to make Ardyn grunt. “Sucking you.” 

Ardyn twisted his hips away from Noctis’s mouth. “Yes, you fool. I can see that. But…why?”

“Why?” Noctis sat up on his knees. Did Ardyn really not know?

“Yes. Why are you here, Noct? When it is obvious I am quite useless to you. Like this.” 

Ardyn’s eyes cut away. He did not seem hurt anymore. Just…blank. Accepting. Ashamed, maybe, just a little bit. But past the point of pain. Empty, devoid of whatever fire drove him from place to place on a normal day.

Noctis wrapped a fist around Ardyn’s cock. He stroked him a little, forcing their eyes to meet. Even though Ardyn seemed confused.

“Because I love you.” Noctis kissed him on the lips. Carefully. “That’s why.”

For a moment, everything was quiet and crystalline. Fragile. 

Then, “Hmph.” Ardyn looked away again. Rejecting what Noctis’s offer of love. Unable to do anything else, it seemed. “Didn’t you hear him? Didn’t you hear what he called me? A demon, a beast, a m….” 

But not even Ardyn could say the rest of that word.

Noctis rubbed his forehead along Ardyn’s cheek. He laid several kisses to the man’s neck. Devoted kisses. Touches that tried to sanctify the flesh beneath his lips.

“I heard him.” Noctis kissed a line up to Ardyn’s mouth. “But what does it matter? I don’t care what that guy thinks.” 

He pressed a kiss to each of Ardyn’s closed eyes. “I know you, don’t I?” 

A breathless laugh escaped the older man. He cupped Noctis’s face, looking like he desperately wanted to believe him. But just couldn’t.

“How can you think that? You foolish lord’s son…” Ardyn shook his head slowly. “How can _you_ possibly know _me_?”

“Because.” Noctis straddled Ardyn’s lap. “I know the type of man you really are. The man who would hold me and dance with me, knowing exactly what I am. Who _wants_ me for what I am. Who would keep an eye on me all night to make sure I’m not getting in over my head again. Who would buy me pretty clothes he can’t afford just to make me smile. The man who sees a stuck-up boy dressed as a girl in Ravenscourt Park and decides to give him the time of his life.” 

It was their whole history. Noctis dragged up everything Ardyn had ever done for him. Of course, there was much more than this. The way Ardyn forced Noctis to realize he had a soul—a heart, something inside of him that yearned to be free—and made him reckon with what that was worth. Yeah. That part kind of sucked. Grappling with his own identity. But anything else….was anything else really living?

Kissing Ardyn’s rough hands, the hands that he loved so much, Noctis ended with, “Who treats me like a real woman, even though I’m just a fucking pervert that gets off on wearing girls’ clothes.”

A shallow smile rose to Ardyn’s lips. 

It was true. Who the hell else would do something like that?

“You’re not a pervert, Noct,” Ardyn said. Warmth returned to his voice. “You’re nothing of the sort. And you’re nothing like me, either. You…you’re…”

He trailed off. Noctis wished he knew exactly what Ardyn wanted to call him in that moment. But even though Ardyn said nothing, Noctis still had some idea.

_You’re good._

“…Yeah,” Noctis said with a shrug. “I know. But the point is, I’m not leaving you, okay? I’m not going anywhere. And you can’t make me.” 

Ardyn’s eyes flashed. Then he rested his hands on Noctis’s hips. “Can’t I?” 

It was a challenge as much as anything else. Noctis was delighted to see it! Hearing something like that from Ardyn meant a little piece of him was returning!

He kissed Ardyn’s ear and whispered, “I want you to fuck me tonight. Like we always do. You can go hard or we can go slow. However you want, okay? But…” 

Noctis stood up and began to undress. Making sure Ardyn was watching every step of the way. When his panties hit the ground, Noctis shuddered and moaned. Trying to be the wanton little creature Ardyn could not resist. 

“Please. Fuck me, Ardyn.” 

In a flash, Ardyn was on his feet. The darkness returned to his eyes, but instead of murderous intent, he looked like a beast in the night. Ready to devour Noctis in one bite. It was a familiar look, honestly. Something intimate they shared. All of Ardyn’s shadowy passion focused on Noctis with razor intensity.

He grabbed Noctis by the hair and crushed their mouths together. It was a tough, brutal kiss.

_Yes_ , Noctis thought. _This is what you need. Let it out. I can take it._

“Bend over.” Ardyn pushed Noctis towards the bed. “Face down, love.” 

Whimpering—fully hard and quite thoroughly aroused—Noctis threw his chest down on the bed. Standing at a complete right angle to give Ardyn a nice view of his ass. 

“If you want me to fuck you, get your ass up.” Noctis complied. He presented himself like a bitch in heat. Ardyn barked out more orders. “Spread yourself wide. Let me see how much you want it.” 

Shivering—embarrassment creeping into Noctis’s arousal, amplifying all his pleasure tenfold—Noctis pulled apart his ass cheeks. Exposing himself. Leaving his puckered, twitching little entrance on full display. 

“My, my.” Ardyn hummed in appreciation. He pressed the tip of his thumb against Noctis’s hole. Of course, Noctis had not been prepped yet and he was utterly dry. But Ardyn pressed in anyway. 

Even the pain felt good to Noctis when he was like this. In this headspace, all he wanted was for Ardyn to take what he needed.

“Do you want it that badly?” Ardyn tutted. “Would you do _anything_?”

Keeping himself spread, Noctis looked back at Ardyn with watery, pleading eyes. “Yes. Anything.” 

The anger on Ardyn’s face fell away. For a moment he looked overcome with adoration. There was no way a person could lie when they were face down, ass up, with their most intimate parts exposed. There was no hint of a lie in Noctis’s face. Ardyn knew—he realized then—that Noctis must really, truly love him.

It was the devotion that drove Ardyn wild. The beauty of this boy and his uncompromising feelings.

“Drop your hands,” Ardyn commanded. He understood their scene now. And he was enjoying it too. “Touch yourself.” 

Noctis immediately stroked himself. Hard and fast. He was already aching for release. Ardyn’s dominant voice made him crazy. Shit, he was getting wet…probably able to spend right away if Ardyn gave a few more orders like that…

“What have I wrought?” Ardyn drawled thoughtfully as he retrieved some lubricant and began prepping Noctis with a few fingers. “What kind of slut have I created? Viola, my dear girl, you’ve become a mewling little harlot. Demanding a good fuck whenever the mood strikes you.” 

“Yes…I am…” Viola cried, squeezing her cock hard. So very close to climax.

Ardyn twisted his fingers in and out of her. Making her tremble, dancing along the edge of ecstasy. 

“Don’t be greedy, now,” Ardyn murmured, pulling her hands away from her groin. Stopping her from reaching her peak. “You’ve been naughty again. You must be taught some patience.” 

Oh, god, yes! Viola bent forward even further. Ardyn was going to hit her again! Ah, she’d been craving it ever since that time in Steyliff. Her ass wiggled in anticipation.

“Please! Ardyn…sir, instruct me…!” 

His hand came down hard across her backside. She cried out loud when she felt it. Such a merciless start! Hardly any warm-up this time!

Her ass was red and vulnerable. Ardyn spanked her several more times in rapid succession. 

“I doubt a succubus like you would ever learn from just a few gentle taps.” Ardyn walked away. When he came back, he passed something cold along the back of her thighs. It felt like polished wood. 

“When I was a lad,” Ardyn reminisced, teasing Viola’s bruised skin with the object in his hand. “My mother would spank me with her hairbrush when I was bad. A hard lesson. But a good one. A few whacks from the brush corrected most of my naughty habits as young boy.” 

He patted Viola’s rear with the back of the hairbrush. “Will the same work on you, I wonder? Has anyone ever scolded you properly, Viola?”

Of course, no one so much as laid even a finger on Noctis when he was growing up. The idea of a true punishment—he spilled more pre-cum against the sheets. Quivering from head to toe.

_Do it, Ardyn._ He said in his mind. _Do it. You need to hit me and fuck yes I want to be hit right now! Do it, damn it…_

“Let’s see.” 

The first strike of the hairbrush sent tears to Noctis’s eyes. There was so much impact behind the strikes now. Not just a slap of skin on skin, but a real _force_. When Ardyn hit him again, he howled in pain. Honest pain. For a second he thought about asking Ardyn to stop…this was pretty intense.

“That was only two strikes, darling,” Ardyn hummed. “Can’t you take any more?” 

Noctis bit his lip and nodded. He would take more. He _would_!

Ardyn paddled him with the brush several more times. After about ten or so, Noctis couldn’t feel the pain so much. He just felt…a vicious kind of love. Everything that Ardyn did to him, he knew—they both knew—that Ardyn did because Noctis allowed it.

That Noctis would allow him to do even this. To hit him. To spank him with the back of a brush…

Ardyn’s heart burst with affection.

Noctis really would let him do anything. He didn’t care about what Aldercapt said—he honestly didn’t. All he cared about was Ardyn.

That was never more apparent than right at that moment.

Forgetting about their scene, Ardyn lost control. He dropped the brush and entered Noctis without any kind of warning. Slamming his cock in hard, filling him to the brim with one rough thrust. 

“Oh, shit…!” Noctis fisted the sheets and screamed. Too much! All at once.

So good.

“Noct…” Ardyn rocked in and out of him. Ruthless, rounding the corner of violent. Yes, actually violent now. Unstoppable. “Noct…you are…everything…”

Noctis could barley breathe. This was the hardest fucking Ardyn had ever given him. But he wanted to hear more! What did Ardyn want from him? Because Noctis would give it.

“Noct…Viola…I…” Ardyn’s hips snapped cruelly. “I…love—” 

He came. Before Noctis even. Ardyn came without any preamble, driven mad by his own words and the feelings in his heart that he could not hold back any longer. 

He’d never expected a person like Noctis to come into his life. It almost wasn’t fair, to have something this beautiful. _Now_. When he was like _this_. But Ardyn loved him—them. Truly, madly, deeply.

Before Noctis could say anything about what just happened, Ardyn picked the boy up by the waist and threw him on the bed. He gulped Noctis’s prick down his throat from base to tip before Noctis knew which way was up. Swallowing the younger man’s spend as he came after barely a moment’s time. 

“What the….hell…?”

“Are you ready, Noct?” 

Ardyn glanced down at his own cock. Sure enough, he was raring to go once more. 

Shit. This was going to be one of their marathon nights wasn’t it?

Well. That, Noctis could abide. It was their normal, after all. He smiled. Pleased to have his Ardyn back.

————————

As the sun rose high in the sky, Noctis and Ardyn finally ran out of energy. They dropped to the bed. Exhausted. A night of dancing then back to back fucking…it was quite a lot. They were both panting and sweating. Worn to the bone. And very, very satisfied. 

Ardyn wrapped Noctis in his arms as they collapsed. 

“Ardyn…” Noctis began after a few moments. He was more tired than he’d ever been in his whole life, but. He didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. He wasn’t tired like that. They’d wrung each other dry but there was still an ocean between them to excavate.

He needed to know.

It was time.

“Ardyn…” Noctis repeated, turning around to finger the black sun on Ardyn’s chest. “What does that man—Aldercapt, I mean…what does he want from you?”

Ah. Ardyn realized—he could feel it too—that it was time. No more lies, no more mysteries. Not after a night like that. Where Noctis had taken him from a useless mess of emptiness and bitterness and turned him into a…madman, intent on ravishing him until the world ended. 

It was a commendable performance. Ardyn had to admit. 

He looked Noctis in the eye. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what that man wants from me now.” It was the truth.

“Then…why is he so pissed at you?”

Ardyn nodded. He kissed the side of Noctis’s face. “There is a reason, of course. But if I tell you this, then I’m afraid I must start at the beginning and go all the way through. It’s…quite a long story.”

“I already know some things,” Noctis admitted. “Like your real name. Ardyn Lucis, right? And Delvyn was your brother?"

Ardyn rounded on Noctis with a shocked face. He did not look betrayed. Just surprised. And a little impressed.

Noctis shrugged. “Ignis has some connections in the office of public records. So he helped me out.”

That meddling valet. Of course.

But it hardly mattered. There was nothing left in Ardyn that could hide from Noctis. As painful as his memories were, he wanted to tell them now. He didn’t want the ocean between them. He wanted Noctis to know. And…to decide for himself if he still wanted to stay. 

“After I…tell you this,” Ardyn began. “You can leave if you want. I won’t stop you.” 

“I told you.” Noctis pulled his legs into a comfortable sitting position. Ready for however long this story might be. “I’m not leaving. No matter what.” 

There was a rather big chance Noctis might end up regretting those words. At least, Ardyn thought so. Although the resolution in his lover’s eyes was nothing to scoff at.

“…Very well. The truth then.”

Ardyn took a deep breath and began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official. This is the longest thing I've ever written.
> 
> And...next chapter is it! Ardyn's whole backstory. Oooh I've been dying to write this chapter ^___^. Can't wait.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me guys, even as the chapters become mini-novels in and of themselves....<3


	11. The past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was trace of a lie on Ardyn's face. This was his truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh man. Here it is. Are you guys ready?? 32k. I had orders from weirdfans to keep going without cliffhangers, even if it was 40k. SO! HERE WE GO! THE WHOLE THING!
> 
> Before we get into heavy shit, the beautiful princenoctease (aka quiet) made [a piece of artwork that gave my soul life](https://jeejascoffee.tumblr.com/post/171682874857/prince-noctease-worked-so-so-so-hard-and-made). It’s Viola in all her dresses, pure art! To go along with that, she made another drawing of [5 Violas tackling Ardyn with love](https://jeejascoffee.tumblr.com/post/171765532047/jeejascoffee-viola-pile-prince-noctease-drew), colored by the lovely lovely weirdfans (aka roundnround)! Because! Ardyn’s going to need some serious help figuring out his schedule if he’s going to please all these lovely ladies… You guys are my heroes
> 
> Now. On to the angst!
> 
> There will be a ton of notes to go with this chapter on historical relevance, but I don’t want to give the spoilers away up front! So most of the notes will be at the end. But just to get us started, [here’s a link about drug use in the 1800s](http://www.victorianweb.org/victorian/science/addiction/addiction2.html). Check out the “Romantic legacy” section for more information on laudanum in the Romantic/Regency era (1800 - 1830s). 
> 
> Aaaand [a nice rundown of crime and punishment in Victorian times](http://vcp.e2bn.org/justice/).
> 
> Also, I’m laying it all out in the open: I made the name ‘Engheld’ by combining the old English word for “angel” (engel) with the old English word for “guard” (held). Engel + held = Engheld. Angel Guard. That’s what I got *thumbs up* (And in case this was unclear, the Lucis and Caelum families are not connected at all in this story. Just two completely different last names. Deal with it, square. Not everything has to be a Greek incest tragedy.)

**Chapter Eleven: The past**

_Kingston Upon Thames  
_ _24 March, 1857  
_ _Saturday - Morning_

“I was born the first son of Arnold Lucis. In Engheld, I believe, my mother gave birth to me. Somewhere here.”

Ardyn’s eyes skirted around the darkened bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, keeping out the early morning light. There was no lie in his eyes. No smirk. This was his truth.

Noctis could feel it. 

“The Lucis family was never especially wealthy, of course. But we are an old English name, tracing back to the Tudors my grandfather used to say. So we were all born in Engheld and raised to uphold the name with everything in our blood.” Ardyn tossed his hand to indicate the drab, diminished state of the manor. “And now, here we are.” 

Noctis tilted his head to the side. He wanted to lay in Ardyn’s arms as he listened to this story. They were both naked—which lent a kind of bare vulnerability to each of Ardyn’s words. 

Somehow, Noctis could sense that Ardyn needed his space. He sat very still across from his lover on the bed. Just listening. 

“My brother Delvyn followed me into this world two years later. We were raised side by side, even sent to the same boarding school in Westminster.” A twitch played around Ardyn’s lips. “I remember…Delvyn hated school at first. He cried every night the first month he was sent away. I would often bring him into my quarters and let him sleep in my bed, even though such things were not allowed. He missed our mother terribly. As the oldest, I felt it was my job to take care of him. So I did. I let him play with my friends, brought him into my circle of older boys.” 

A tiny speck of endearment crossed Ardyn’s face. “We were rather similar in appearance. We had the same mulberry-colored hair—a gift from our mother—which I preferred to keep shorn, cut close to my scalp and Delvyn liked to leave untidy. The biggest difference between us was our eyes. Mine were light hazel and his were dark brown, almost black. We used to…well, we could pass as doubles from the back if you weren’t looking carefully. We had a bit of fun with that growing up.”

The endearment faded as soon as it appeared.

“Of course eventually, Delvyn adjusted to boarding school. Found his own friends. When he did, he no longer wanted anything to do with me. It was a trait that would last well into our adult years. We grew apart. I think…he didn’t want to remember, maybe, what I’d done for him…or…”

Ardyn shook his head. Cold sadness permeated his face. “I can’t really say. At any rate, my mother died of illness when we were boys. I was with her when she passed. Saw her wither.” 

He frowned. There was a strange lack of attachment in his voice as he explained. Noctis had been with his own mother when she died—they had that in common, apparently. Except, Noctis had never recounted the story to anyone. Not to his father, not to Prompto, not Luna. Not even Ignis. There were some things Noctis couldn’t talk about. He would fall apart if he had to give away the details of being at his mother’s side until the very end….

But as Ardyn spoke of watching his mother die, his face stayed schooled. Tight and unbroken. Perhaps he’d told this story many times over. Or maybe it had been long enough now that the feelings were not so fresh.

The detachment in his voice made Noctis sad. He knew there had been pain here, at one time. But the pain had been buried underneath an avalanche of other things….things Noctis was about to hear.

Ardyn licked his lips. “Anyway. As I said, my family was not blessed with an overabundance of wealth. My father kept what fortune we had—decently sizable, I suppose you could say, a good nest egg—by working for a living and never spending money on anything outlandish. So, my brother Delvyn and I needed to find careers as we grew up. I decided to study medicine. Perhaps because of my mother, or maybe…” Ardyn shrugged. “I had a knack for it. Medical school was not a terrible burden on me.

“Delvyn…” Ardyn took a deep breath. “…became a solicitor.” 

He paused after that.

“So, by the time I was in my twenties, I was able to establish a small private practice. Nothing serious, of course, not a _hospital_ , you understand. But I had some loyal clientele that I dedicated myself to providing house calls for—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Noctis had to stop him there. “You’re a _doctor_?”

Noctis very nearly swallowed his own tongue as he asked that. Ardyn—a doctor? A man of medicine?! How?! Noctis never would have even guessed, Ardyn gave no hints whatsoever—

“ _Was_ a doctor, Noct. A private physician.” Ardyn bounced his shoulders. “I was no Florence Nightingale, but. I helped a few people with some minor aches and pains, trouble sleeping at night, melancholia. Things of that nature. Highborn illnesses, you see? My father’s connections with the nobility gave me a client-base that would never condescend to going to hospital. I think perhaps…my natural charm is what drew them to me, rather than my skill as a physician.” 

Noctis was speechless. Ardyn…making house calls for rich people, prescribing them pinch doses of this and that for their ailments…delighting them with conversation bred from a place of charisma—actually, Noctis could imagine that.

Maybe that’s the weirdest thing of all. Ardyn as a small time doctor somehow made sense. 

“My most notable feats were in the area of childbirth.” Ardyn smiled wistfully and shook his head. “Oh, those nobles…once they trust you, they’ll let you do anything. Cure their wives of insomnia, deliver their daughters’ babies.” Ardyn nodded. He seemed pleased with himself. “I’d say there are a few people walking around London that I helped bring into this world.” 

“You mean…” Noctis blinked rapidly, fighting back the most bizarre blush he’d ever had. “…women actually let you….like—”

“Are you going to let me finish my story, Noct, or shall I give you the particulars of a woman’s suffering during labor?” Ardyn was mildly amused by Noctis’s squirming. 

“Tch.” Noctis shrugged harshly, pretending he wasn’t uncomfortable with all this. “No. I mean. Go on.” 

“Well. Perhaps later then.” Ardyn sneered. But his face never reached optimal teasing capacity. His features fell and his eyes looked murky as he continued. “I made a decent living, long story short. My father was proud of me. I had a few marriage prospects on the horizon, which I entertained with a certain kind of…eh, the naivety particular to young men.”

His smile was dry. Bitter. “It wasn’t anything special, I suppose. But I liked my life. In fact I…liked it quite a bit. I liked the man I was. Quick with a joke, a pleasure to have at parties, always invited to the noble’s dinners. My day-to-day living was easy. Enjoyable, even. And my future—a wife, children, the laurel of the Lucis name….seemed a certainty.”

These were the parts of Ardyn’s past that he remembered with fondness. But Noctis could clearly see that fondness was a double edged sword. The more Ardyn recalled the good parts of his life—and those parts sounded regular, good, and nothing at all like the way he lived now—the more painful his reality became. 

Noctis reached out and took Ardyn’s hand in both of his own. These rough, sun darkened hands. They belied the comfortable doctor’s life Ardyn was describing. Yet, these were the hands Noctis knew. He knew nothing of this dapper middle-class socialite, although at times he could see glimpses of him. Like faint afterimages. The small bits that remained from whoever that man—Ardyn Lucis—had been.

Noctis didn’t say anything. He watched Ardyn gather himself, preparing for the retelling of his fall. The man needed time to get into the right mood for that story. 

Noctis would let him take his time. He didn’t care at all for the sun blocked out by the heavy drapes. Let the whole world go on without them for a change. 

He just wanted to hear Ardyn’s story. 

“In 1830,” Ardyn’s voice was raspy. Tired already. “My father died. Natural causes. He was old, enfeebled. And again, I was with him when he passed. I remember he seemed so…content to die. Relaxed. Not a bit preoccupied with the world he was leaving behind. He was….” Ardyn closed his eyes. “…happy, he said. To leave the Lucis name with me.” 

This hurt him. Noctis could see that. His father’s respect. Remembering it now cut Ardyn to the quick. 

He squeezed his lover’s hand tighter.

Ardyn cleared his throat. “There was a rub between Delvyn and I over the matter of our father’s will. To begin with, our father appointed another lawyer to handle the will after he died. That rankled with Delvyn. He saw it as a slight that our father wouldn’t appoint him even though he had the same qualifications as that other lawyer.

“However…Delvyn’s reputation as a solicitor was far from spotless. He had trouble securing clients from the courts. Delvyn was a very smart man, you see, but he lacked a certain necessary charm. He was often overlooked by the judges in favor of solicitors with a more natural, collected aura. Delvyn was always a bit too serious for his own good. And he had money problems, due to both his lack of steady income and a penchant for the gambling dens that he preferred to keep quiet. Although it was well-known in the family. I lent him money all the time. So did my father.

“Because of this, my father arranged his will so that I would be the sole inheritor of both Engheld and the Lucis family fortune. I would be the one to see to Engheld’s future and manage what wealth our family had accrued over the years. Delvyn would have no entitlement of his own. I needed to supervise all of Delvyn’s interactions with the estate. Writing him monthly checks of whatever amount I saw fit to give him as an allowance.” 

Ardyn paused. He rubbed his nose absentmindedly. “Of course, Delvyn was furious when he found out about this. He raised a scene in the lawyer’s office and accused both me and my father of swindling him out of his fair due. I told him this was not the case—obviously our father was just being practical. Delvyn would have spent his inheritance in a matter of months either on bad investments or at the card table. I think Delvyn knew that, too. But he was too ashamed to admit it.

“Instead of accepting the matter gracefully—never his wont—Delvyn refused to see why I should inherit everything and he nothing. There was only a two year’s difference in age between us. He argued that everything should be split down the middle.” Ardyn shook his head. “What was the sense in dividing the family fortune? Split in two, the money would have been just above a pittance. So, of course I did not agree and I refused to sign my name to such a thing. Delvyn stormed out of the lawyer’s office that day and did not speak to me for about a year afterward. That said, I still sent him checks every month. Hoping he could stay afloat.

The ledger books in the records office told a rather different story. Noctis knew that, but he decided not to say anything just yet. After all Ardyn’s story was far from finished.

The older man took a deep, heaving breath. Sucking in the fraught atmosphere of the room, exhaling an even darker mood. 

“Around this time,” Ardyn continued. “I had one particularly loyal client. An older woman, the wife of a lord. She was recommended to me by an acquaintance after she confided that she had been taken with a touch of the melancholies. A common ailment among women. From our first meeting, we got along rather well. She told me a great deal about herself. Things she said she’d never told anyone else. I think…she saw me as a bosom friend instead of a physician. And she was quite wealthy, pleasant enough company, so I didn’t mind.

“That woman’s name was Mary Aldercapt.” 

Of course Noctis recognized the name. His eyes widened and Ardyn nodded at him in confirmation.

“Yes. This woman was Iedolas Aldercapt’s wife.” 

Ardyn stopped talking. It seemed for a long moment that he would not continue. He even laid back down on the bed, as if it was too much energy to sit up. 

Undaunted, Noctis laid down beside him. “So, what happened?” 

“….Right.” Ardyn nodded, scratching his scalp in irritation. He forced himself to go on, grimacing with every word. “I diagnosed Mary with a mild case of melancholia brought on by natural predisposition. Her mother was often sad when Mary was growing up, she said. So that must have been where it started. And her husband spent much of his time in the House of Lords, so she was alone a lot. She worried he wasn’t attracted to her anymore. All of these things could lead to gloominess such as Mary experienced. I didn’t think much of it. So, I prescribed her a moderate dose of laudanum and figured her mood would pass in time.” 

Ardyn bit his lower lip and shook his head slowly. “It was a diagnosis any doctor in my position would have given. All the signs were there! If Mary liked, she could have gone to any chemist and gotten the same treatment. But she liked being told by a doctor that laudanum was what she needed. For whatever reason. I don’t know why.” 

Anger crept into Ardyn’s tone. “Perhaps I should have asked about what other predispositions existed in her family history, but that was hardly necessary! Besides, suppose there were none! What then? She could have gotten the laudanum from anyone breathing in London at that time—what else was a doctor with limited experience such as myself supposed to—”

“Ardyn, slow down.” Noctis rested his hand on his lover’s forehead. “I’m starting to get lost. What happened to Mary?” 

The older man was already wound up. Temples burning. When he looked at Noctis again, there was a familiar darkness in his eyes. “What happened. Well, I made a mistake. I made a series of rather terrible, poorly contrived mistakes. For one, Mary began to exhibit signs that she had taken to the laudanum too readily. Developed something of a habit. When she came to me again, her cheeks were thinner and there were dark circles under her eyes. I didn’t know about the signs of laudanum abuse back then. I thought that she had just come down with insomnia.” 

Ardyn scratched his head again. Harder this time. “When she asked me for more, I prescribed her a higher dose. I didn’t know at the time that her husband had started hiding the laudanum bottles from her, given her name to the local chemists and asked them not to give her any. So, when she asked that I procure the laudanum myself, I thought nothing of it. I just…thought she was too tired to get it herself. So I did as she asked.

“That was my mistake, Noct. Not looking hard enough at the signs. Being too eager to please. I wanted Mary to trust me, that much is true. I enjoyed being her friend because she was so very wealthy and she often gave me…little things. Nice clothes, boots I could never afford myself. Nothing extravagant. Gifts from a friend, she said. More than that, Mary was a naturally kind soul. I genuinely liked talking with her. I considered her a friend, beyond the typical doctor-patient camaraderie. Perhaps she reminded me of my mother. I don’t know, but I…” 

Ardyn swallowed. It made a noise. As if there was something heavy in his throat. “I prescribed her whatever she asked of me. Towards the end, I began to see it. The signs were obvious. Her teeth were black around the gums, her skin was pale and yellowish. She could not rise in the daytime without first taking a dose of laudanum. And she required many doses just to pass a day sitting in her house writing letters. I refused to increase her dosage after that. But if she wanted more laudanum, I still gave it to her. After all, she was in so much pain. What else would help? I thought….”

Noctis cringed. He saw where this was going. It made him kind of sick. He knew about people who became overly dependent on opium and its affiliates. There were some diehard lobbyists in the House that spoke out against opium to the point that they demanded it be ruled illegal for consumption. Along with alcohol. People could get addicted to both, it was true. Maybe there was some harm in those substances…

But. Noctis knew why Ardyn kept giving in to Mary. He imagined a woman—near death, probably—begging him for more doses. Ardyn, as a doctor who’d gone into medicine to ease people’s suffering…well, Noctis might have done the same thing. Especially for a woman who reminded him of Aulea. It was not cruelty to want a person’s pain to go away, was it? Even if the cure is what ailed her…

“….it was all a mistake,” Ardyn concluded. Firmly. Convincing himself. “When Iedolas found out I was giving her laudanum behind his back, he threw me out of the house. Barred me from ever seeing her again. Of course, by then it was too late. I read of her death in the papers about a month later.” 

Noctis pressed his lips to Ardyn’s cheek. He shouldn’t have—this was not what Ardyn needed from him in that moment. But Noctis couldn’t help himself. He could see how much Mary’s death pained him. Like losing his mother twice. The second time partially because of his own interference…oh, Noctis could only imagine the guilt Ardyn carried with him for that. 

“I’m so sorry, Ardyn,” Noctis whispered. 

“Hnh.” Ardyn pulled away from him. He did not want to be comforted. Not for Mary. Because…Mary was his fault, in a way. “I should have done better by her. Anyone could say that’s the case. Logic tells me that if it hadn’t been me, Mary would have gotten her laudanum from another doctor. Anyone else. She knew how to get what she needed. But that’s besides the point. She got it from me. I don’t know where she got the dose that eventually killed her—I never found out, actually—but I…helped her get to that point. That’s my failing.” 

Ardyn had been living with this for quite some time. He seemed painfully resigned to it. Did he consider himself a murderer? Noctis didn’t know. 

“But I tried to push the guilt away,” Ardyn went on. “I didn’t want to face it. Couldn’t face it. Told myself that I had only done what a good doctor was supposed to do. I tried to move on….and, several months later, when I was arrested for murder, I was honestly surprised.” 

Ice shot through Noctis’s veins. “Arrested? They…arrested you for killing her?” 

“Indeed, Noct.” Ardyn was almost smiling now. “This was in 1831. It was the first time anyone could remember a doctor had being arrested for prescribing laudanum, but Iedolas Aldercapt was on a rampage. He claimed that I had fed into Mary’s habit on purpose. Apparently—and I swear I did not know this at the time—she had also written me into her will. When she died, I was supposed to come into a small fortune of my own. When Iedolas found out, he had the whole thing stopped. I never saw any of that inheritance, and I probably would have been too guilty to take it in any case. Still, Iedolas argued that the will gave me motive for prescribing her something she clearly should not have had access to. Hastening her into an early grave.” 

“That’s crazy!” Noctis slapped the nearest pillow and sat up. “It wasn’t your fault! It’s not like you actually took a knife to her throat or something! How could they charge you with _murder_ I mean—”

“Yes, well. Most people thought it was asinine too. At first. The police even admitted they arrested me to appease Aldercapt, who carried some clout among the municipality and just needed somebody’s head on a plate. They said the charges would never stick. That I’d be out of gaol in a day’s time.” 

Ardyn shook his head. “That first night I spent in gaol, I believed them. Then came a second night. Then a third. A week passed by the time I actually spoke to another policeman. He revealed to me that the facts of the case had changed.” 

“What _changed_?” Noctis demanded.

“It seemed Iedolas was being backed by a lawyer with particular knowledge of me and my so-called past. That they’d managed to drum up a variety of other cases where they claimed I had over-prescribed opium and brought each and every one to a judge. After seeing all this evidence, the judge was willing to hear the case properly. A full trial and adjudication. With the possibility of a death sentence at the end. 

“Naturally, the lawyer working with Iedolas was my brother Delvyn.” 

Oh. _Oh._ Noctis went pale as he realized the connection. Delvyn would have loved to smear Ardyn’s name and write him out of the will, take the inheritance for himself—and oh _fuck_. If the records Ignis found in the public office were any proof, then Delvyn had succeeded. 

A death sentence? Noctis wanted to wrap Ardyn in his arms and never let go—he’d never let someone take Ardyn away from him for such dastardly reasons, revenge and bitterness and greed!

But the story was not done.

“I think I might have fainted when I heard that they were working on hanging me,” Ardyn admitted with a faint shrug. “Can’t remember now. In fact, the next few months altogether are sort of…hazy.” 

He frowned. “They gave my brother the case to prosecute. He dragged out each and every mildly disgruntled patient I’d ever had in the past. Made them testify. Even patients I was on good terms with testified against me. Delvyn might have paid them off—by this time, the Lucis account was frozen and I had no access to any of my own money, because there was a clause written that any legal activity might render the estate inaccessible until the proceedings were finalized. I believe my father wrote this clause in the will to protect against Delvyn, whom we always suspected might have trouble with the law someday. But in the end it trapped only me.” 

Ardyn narrowed his eyes. Contemplative. As if he tasted something sour in his mouth and but refused to spit it out on principle. “The trial lasted two weeks. It felt like a _lifetime_. I watched as everyone I knew—people I considered friends—ripped my good name to shreds. I watched my brother label me a murderer in front of the court, saying I had a manipulative streak since birth. Delvyn. _Delvyn_ , he…made a real monster of me.” 

The back of Ardyn’s jaw twitched. He was grinding his teeth together, visibly. 

“In that courtroom,” Ardyn said slowly. “It wasn’t about Mary, or any of my patients. It was all about my brother’s hatred for me. His jealousy. Things I never knew he felt; he had always seen me as the favorite son, apparently. Which I’d never known until he brandished my life on the edge of a sword for all to jeer at, calling me a manipulator of our father’s affections. A snake in the grass. The Judas Iscariot of 1831.”

Ardyn’s eyes fluttered closed. “By the time Delvyn was done painting my portrait for the court, it was easy for anyone to make the leap to think I had purposely poisoned Mary Aldercapt for my own selfish gains. And so, the judge sentenced me.” 

For some reason, Ardyn broke into a smile. “Guilty on all counts. Likely to go to the gallows. But for the time being, they sent me back to gaol to await my final sentence.” 

Holy…shit. Noctis shook his head again and again. How could they actually find Ardyn guilty of murder for what he’d done? _Murder!_ Was the court really that capricious? They might have hanged a man because of the stories someone else told….

Was that London? Was that even reality? How could it have gone down like that? Noctis didn’t want to believe such a thing was true…and yet…Ardyn’s name, blackened out by ink. A shameful mark that needed erasing. Delvyn’s own shame, perhaps, and the family shame at having a convicted felon in the record books. 

It added up. Painfully, like a painting of a nightmare that you didn’t want to look at, but couldn’t help admiring for the artist’s skill. The story made sense. 

Ardyn’s face was slack again. Blank. “My whole world turned to nothing in front of my eyes. My life, ruined. My future, gone. Left to rot in prison. About to be hanged for crimes I hadn’t committed with any kind of intent…it was worse than any nightmare. Not even my subconscious could have conjured up a demise that painful. Taking everything I held dear about myself and my life, turning it into something vile.” 

His shoulders went limp. Eyes unseeing, watching something play out like the script of a play. One only Ardyn could see. “I saw Delvyn one more time after the trial. He came to visit me in gaol…” 

_“Good morning, brother. …Though, how can you tell down here, I wonder?”_

_Ardyn was sitting in his cell with the rest of the criminals awaiting sentencing. He’d been in this cell for…days, maybe? Weeks? They were in the furthest wing of the prison and there were no windows. Ardyn tried to judge the passing days by whenever the guards handed out food, but even that was too irregular to monitor._

_He spent most of his time sitting with his back against the wall. Curled up, head on his arms. He hadn’t showered since before the trial. The rest of the men in his cell were mostly wordless. They were all awaiting their fate. Some of them would be hanged, certainly. And the others…? Who could say._

_He tried not to think of the trial, but these were the only thoughts in his head. What else was there? The faces of his friends turned into vicious strangers. The disgust in the judge’s face as he passed down his ruling._

_“May God have mercy on your soul,” the judge said._

_But what soul was left in him? With this shattered life?_

_And now Delvyn was here. Ardyn bolted to his feet and ran to the bars that separated him and the free world, him and Delvyn. It was the first time they had spoken face to face since the day they learned of their father’s will. A year ago. Delvyn looked rather the same as Ardyn remembered. A little thinner perhaps, but then, so was Ardyn. Eating nothing but irregular, semi-edible prison food for the past month._

_“Delvyn!” Ardyn hissed through the bars._

_He wanted to reach across and strangle the very life out of his brother, but…another murder (an actual one!) would only set him back further in the eyes of the court. So instead, he tried to appeal to Delvyn’s good nature. They’d known each other all their lives, he knew Delvyn was a good person deep down! Even if he had a wicked stubborn streak that had turned into jealousy…_

_“You must speak to the judge about my sentence!” Ardyn demanded. “Tell them you were exaggerating, brother. That it wasn’t…the way you made it sound! Tell the truth, Delvyn!”_

_For a moment they were children back at boarding school; Ardyn upbraiding his brother in front of the headmaster for whatever small crime Delvyn had committed showing off for his friends. As the oldest, Ardyn always tried to drag the truth out of his brother. Made him confess and get a lesser punishment. He’d known even then what a fantastic liar that boy could be._

_But now Ardyn was the one facing punishment. His reprimand sounded more like begging to both their ears._

_Delvyn wasn’t smiling. Ardyn couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Delvyn smile. Not even after the trial when he’d won everything. But his younger brother’s eyes were wild with a look Ardyn had never seen before. Mania. Passion of a certain kind._

_It was almost frightening._

_“I told the truth in my heart, Ardyn,” Delvyn answered, crossing his arms petulantly. “Every bit of it.”_

_The last of Ardyn’s threadbare hopes—the hope that his brother still retained some sense of familial love for him, if not love then empathy, if not empathy then pity—vanished. They fell to his feet in tatters, leaving him more exposed than before. Defenseless._

_“Delvyn…you….you can’t think….” Ardyn’s heart was broken. He’d never thought Delvyn hated him this much! He refused to believe it! Lowering his voice, he said, “If this is about the money, brother, then…leave it to me. I’ll sort it all out. You can have half of father’s inheritance if that’s what you want—”_

_“Half?!” Delvyn snarled. “What makes you think I would settle for half, when right now—at this very moment—I have it all? The whole lot of it!”_

_Ardyn looked away in disgust and deep anger. He’d known Delvyn would re-write the will to suit himself, but he hadn’t thought Delvyn would do it before Ardyn was even sentenced._

_His brother had no decency. How had it come to this?_

_Hatred settling into his voice, Ardyn growled back, “Then fine. Take it all! The money means nothing to me—”_

_“Easy for you to say, well-lacquered as you’ve been for the entirety of your life. Until now.” Delvyn’s bitterness was impossible to miss._

_“And haven’t I kept you ‘lacquered’ enough?” Ardyn shouted. “Writing out checks for you month after month, never expecting any payment in return—”_

_“I’m sure, dear brother, that you delighted in keeping me on an allowance. Like a child. Dolling out the scraps of your checkbook, just enough to keep me clothed and fed, while you laughed behind my back all the while!” Tears of rage rose to Delvyn’s eyes. “Without a care in the world what it…did to me, asking my brother of all people for…ugh.”_

_Delvyn turned his back, clearly choked up. Ardyn was shocked that his brother felt so strongly about the checks—Ardyn never thought anything of them! He’d wanted to give Delvyn something to live on, that’s all! And yes, it was true, he had not considered Delvyn’s pride in the matter. What pride could a man possess, being down and out so very often?_

_Maybe that was Ardyn’s failing. Not considering the fact that his brother might feel inferior having to rely on checks from him. He’d hoped whatever shame Delvyn felt would spur him into a more honest line of work. But…obviously that’s not what happened._

_In fact it had the opposite effect. The shame and the constant reliance on skullduggery turned Delvyn into a heartless bastard._

_“I’m sorry for however I made you feel in the past, Delvyn,” Ardyn said. The words tasted like vomit after everything Delvyn said about him in court. But maybe this is what his brother needed to hear. “I’d like to make it up to you if I can. But for that, you must go to the judge right now and ask him to reconsider his ruling—”_

_“No. I shan’t.” Delvyn started to walk away. “In fact I’m going to sign your sentencing papers right now. As prosecutor.”_

_Misery boiled over the surface. His brother—the last of his family!—had abandoned him! Over something as tawdry as money and fickle pride!_

_“Delvyn, they’re going to fucking_ hang _me!” Ardyn roared. He struck the bars with his bare palm, sending a ringing sound across the cramped, cavernous depths of the jail._

_At that, Delvyn stopped in his tracks. He faced Ardyn one last time—and finally he was smiling. The twisted grin of sweet victory that had come at quite a high price._

_“Oh, no. They won’t hang you, brother. Don’t be dramatic.” Delvyn sniffed. Basking in his superiority. “They wouldn’t hang a man for prescribing laudanum to a sick woman. Transport you, more like. Probably to Australia.”_

_Transportation? Ardyn’s mouth went dry at the same time his heart leapt in relief. Transportation! A downgrade from capital punishment. He’d have to work on a prison colony, but he’d be alive…._

_…a miserable fate. But. Not death, at least._

_Ardyn sunk down into a sitting position. His legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. The fear of death that muted all sensations up until now had been ripped away like a bandage. Now everything felt raw. Too real. This wasn’t his end—the gallows, a broken neck—but rather…this was a life he’d have to live forever now._

_Shaking, Ardyn clasped a hand over his mouth. Was transportation better or worse than death? Was the continuation of this ruined life a far more brutal punishment in and of itself?_

_Time would tell._

_“You might like Australia, brother!” Delvyn called, striding away. “Hot as the devil’s balls, I’m told. But maybe you’ll find it agreeable! Do take care.”_

_That was the last Ardyn ever saw of his brother._

“….So they transported you?” Noctis asked, combing his fingers through Ardyn’s hair. He knew every word of that took something out of his lover. He wished he could wipe away that absence as easily as smoothing the tangles in his hair. “To, where? Australia?” 

Ardyn nodded. His eyes were closed again. “Yes. New South Wales. I was sentenced to hard labor for a minimum of ten years. At the time, the notion of ‘ten years’ held no meaning for me. Especially among the courts, where years of prison time are given out as capriciously as one deals a deck of cards. My defender said he’d talked the judge out of a life sentence, then down from twenty years minimum. Twenty years, ten years. These were all impossible concepts to grapple with at the time.”

Ten years of hard labor on a prison colony. Noctis winced. He’d thought the story would be bad. But…this? Prison labor—basically slavery. Politicians rallied every day for the cessation of all transportation. Cruelty, they said it was. But it continued still, since it was remarkably affordable and an alternative to hanging. 

How had Ardyn survived? 

Noctis ran his fingers down his lover’s tattooed chest. He was suddenly very grateful of the hardships this flesh must have faced over the years. Without thinking, Noctis pressed a kiss to Ardyn’s sternum.

Ardyn flinched under the kiss. He hadn’t been expecting that. But he settled soon enough, recognizing the touch of Noctis’s lips almost as easily as he would the touch of his own hands. They shared a look. Noctis’s eyes were full of worry, and Ardyn seemed to have reached a point that was impossible to legitimately share with other people.

The truth of his life as a convict. 

Parts of that life were written in indelible ink across his skin. Not only there, but in the darkness residing within him as well. The edge of raw desperation that hung around Ardyn like a second skin, morphing into focus only when the jester’s spirit disappeared. 

A hardened criminal. That’s what his love was. Noctis could see that now with total clarity.

He added this new information to everything else he knew about Ardyn and found that it changed nothing.

“But you lived.” Noctis kissed him again. Closing his eyes in pleasure. In thanks, really. “That’s good, isn’t it?” 

Ardyn sighed. The time-worn lines around his face pulled at his skin. “Yes. I lived, Noct. And that is entirely its own story. A far longer one, I’m afraid.”

“Tell me.” Noctis laid his head on Ardyn’s chest. Beseeching more stories from his lover with determined blue eyes. Letting his love for the other man seep out in waves.

Ardyn chuckled when he saw that face. He curled his hand around Noctis’s head. The rest of his truth wasn’t as poignant as his downfall had been. No tales of treachery. No backstabbing brothers, no vengeful widowers. The truth was…deplorable, in a way. The things he’d done in prison. Most civilized people would find these stories reprehensible. They were what took Ardyn from a place of comfortable humanity to a place of animal-like debasement. He knew that. And in many ways, Ardyn was far beyond such debasement. It had sunk into him. Turning him into this, whatever he was now.

This thing Noctis loved.

Would he still love him if he knew all the rest? The days, weeks, months, and years Ardyn spent in prison? Ardyn lived each one of those days. Grinding away at his sentence, chipping away at the boundaries of his sanity. He’d been through so much in Australia…things he’d never planned on telling Noctis. Who was so far from that world. 

Ardyn thought he would never again put his soul on the scale of justice. Never leave himself open to the judgement of others, those who made decisions only with the small bits and pieces they knew of the world. The base instincts of the sheltered, those with full bellies and warm hearths. Ardyn rejected judgement and any sense of righteousness from people like that. The people he’d helped—people he’d fucking _delivered children_ for!—that turned their backs as he was shipped away like filth. 

Yet, now after so many years scorning the very idea, Ardyn was doing it again! Leaving himself open for Noctis’s judgement. And lo and behold, Ardyn found that he very much cared what Noctis thought.

“I’m certain you don’t want to hear all of it, my love,” Ardyn assured him. 

He looked away, summoning a smile in order to hide the shame. He’d thought he was past shame, too. But. Here he was. Ashamed to tell Noctis everything. Uncertain how to even begin to describe some of the things he’d seen. Things he’d done. 

Noctis considered this. He was quiet for a long moment (not knowing that every second of his silence made Ardyn sweat for the fate of his soul). 

Then at last he said, “I get that. I mean there’s probably a lot that’s…hard. Maybe some stuff that I’d never understand. But…it’s your life. And, this is part of you.” Noctis laced his fingers together with Ardyn’s, holding his hand like it was something precious. “So I want to know. To try, at least, to understand that part of you.” 

He kissed all five of Ardyn’s fingers one by one. Gently. Like kissing fragile glass instead of leathery skin used to hard labor. Each kiss sent a shock through Ardyn. Straight to his heart. 

There was a piece of Ardyn’s humanity, whatever he had left, that relished Noctis. That piece was flourishing now. Blossoming like a flower under a hot lamp. Reaching up through the brambles of trauma and so many long, painful years, trying to be understood. To be seen. 

Ardyn wanted Noctis to see him. He did not know why, but he did. 

“So I guess…” Noctis sat up. Showing that he was ready to listen. “Tell me whatever you can. Whatever isn’t too hard. Doesn’t have to be everything. Just….whatever you want, okay?"

Whatever he wanted. Hmm.

Ardyn laughed dryly in spite of himself. Exactly what parts of his life on the colony did he want Noctis to know? 

__________________________________

_Somewhere off the coast of Africa  
_ _Onboard the Westmoreland Convict Ship  
_ _May 1832_

It was impossible to keep firm track of the days on this ship. In the prisoner’s quarters below deck they could tell night from day, but the passage of time felt indistinct. For example, Ardyn might fall asleep in the early evening and then wake up in the dead of night, uncertain if an entire day had passed or if it had only been a few hours. Down here there were no calendars. No watches or clocks.  

There was just men. Roughly 220 male convicts from London being transported to New South Wales (Sydney, some of the men called it, or Botany Bay, but Ardyn could not keep track of any real difference between the terms). They each had their own hammock, dirty slings of rough cotton that the men called their bed. Indeed, the hammocks themselves were little prisons of their own—the reason being, the convicts were not allowed above deck until their day of ‘special privilege’ arrived. They were kept on a schedule. Each convict was allowed up to two afternoons above deck a week. They took turns, went in shifts. Out of every seven days, a man could see the sun twice before being locked in the underbelly of the ship once more. 

Ardyn knew his days were Wednesday and Friday. Or, he thought they were. In the beginning, Ardyn clung to these days. Every time the choking, reeking darkness of the prisoner’s quarters drove him to point of physical illness (hundreds of unwashed bodies mixed with dank ocean water, along with the smell of shit and vomit, of the stowaway rats that scurried around the floor at night and sometimes during the day, rats some of the men were keeping as pets just to stave off boredom)…Ardyn tried to remember that his day was coming. Wednesday and Friday. Wednesday and Friday—they had to come sometime!  

Ardyn never imagined that he would long for fresh air the same way he hungered for food. Sunlight and a clean breeze were like the breath of heaven. Every Wednesday and Friday when he climbed out from the belly of the ship, into the bright afternoon sun…Ardyn felt a piece of his soul return. He would rush to the side of the deck to feel the sea breeze on his face. Some cool water at last, after days and days spent in the darkness, in the same unwashed clothes. Ardyn still wore the baggy gray prison clothes they’d given him in London. 

He owned nothing else. Not even his own pair of shoes. The shoes they gave him in London were too big and did not stay on his feet. Most of the time, Ardyn chose to go without. Shoeless, dirty, and beginning to grow stir crazy after two months at sea, Ardyn savored his afternoons above deck rain or shine. Hell, the rain felt good! It wasn’t as cold as the rain in London. By now they must be off the coast of Africa…a strange, dry climate, with sudden inconsistent periods of rain.

Ocean was ocean. The blue stretched out endlessly in every direction. It would be another two months before they arrived in New South Wales. They might stop in South Africa to replenish supplies, but that was it. 

Ardyn wondered if they would let the prisoners undock once they got to South Africa. After two months at sea, Ardyn was forgetting what it felt like to be on solid ground. He’d never been much of a traveller (hell, he’d only ever left London twice in his life, both times to visit distant relatives in Scotland).

He tucked the idea of dry land in South Africa away in his head and kept focused on his days. Wednesday and Friday. Wednesday was the long haul, really. The gap between Friday and Wednesday was large. But returning below deck on Wednesday didn’t seem so bad if Ardyn told himself it was just one day more until Friday and he could be in the open air again!

Unfortunately, his sense of time was horribly skewed. Last time he went above deck the calendar in the kitchen read Thursday. Were they off track? Was the cook not keeping good time? Had they changed Ardyn’s day? Impossible to tell.

…And what did it really matter, in the end. This life of tragic boredom, being locked in prisoner’s quarters and told to sit on his hammock for four months and wait…well, Ardyn was basically clinging to whatever light he could, or else he would just surrender to insanity now and let himself go.

That was his first hurdle after he received his sentence: Surviving the boredom. Ardyn had always been a busy chap. He worked his whole life, entertained company in the evenings, went to bed late and got up early. Ardyn liked to be occupied. On board the Westmoreland, surrounded by convicts and damp wooden planks on every side, Ardyn had to get used to inactivity. Sometimes the men would drum up a card game (there were always a few cards missing, of course) or a dice game. Sometimes they would gather around and tell stories of the things they were leaving behind in London. Of the crimes they’d committed. Of what their trials or sentencing had been like. Above ground, they could queue up for a game of table tennis. Toss a ball back and forth. There was a small collection of books in the kitchen cabinet. Ardyn—as one of the few convicts onboard who could read—mostly had this to himself. So reading was a good pastime. By now, Ardyn was going through his second reading of each text (mostly Greek plays about the sea and different versions of the Bible). 

Ardyn had no special desire to partake in the other convicts’ chatter. He did not have a loving wife or children at home. Far from it! Nor did he want to talk about his exploits as a criminal. Ardyn had committed a crime without even knowing what he’d done. There was no glory in that. 

That surmised the entire laundry list of activities available aboard the Westmoreland. Some of the men—recidivists, Ardyn imagined—said that they didn’t mind the sloth. Better to have an entire day laying around than be forced to work under the blistering sun, a fate which awaited them in New South Wales. 

Ardyn could not be certain he agreed. Time here felt like its own brand of torture. A sand pit with no bottom. Every time Ardyn thought he’d reached the very end of the torment, he dug a bit further down and realized he’d made no progress at all. He was still churning sand with every limb, choking on the stuff. Drowning in it. Sand—time—was the one thing Ardyn had and he would happily be rid of it. 

…Happily be rid of this stinking ship and every man on it. God damn this vessel straight to hell, rats and all! 

Ardyn longed for Engheld horribly. The comfort of a good bed and a nice meal. Clothes he’d bought with his own money. His own rooms. Closed doors.  

Yes. The loss of privacy was the second hurdle Ardyn had to overcome. As a convict, you were never alone. There was always another body pressed right up next to yours at all hours of the day and night. When he slept and when he woke. Eyes watching, legs accidentally kicking. Globs of spit if someone yelled a little too loudly. Piss sometimes, when the line for the lavatory was too long. 

That was another thing Ardyn had an abundance of here: Bodies. The stuff of man. 

Ardyn closed his eyes and imagined Wednesday and Friday. The sun’s rays greeting him warmly no matter what he smelled like. 

Towards the end of May, there was a terrible storm. The ship tossed and turned. Men grew ill. Then the waves became dangerous—life-threatening. The ship itself nearly upended several times. 

Ardyn had never been a God-fearing man. He went to church on Sundays like everyone else, a good Anglican, but he’d never really believed. Never spent more time than he had to in prayer. But on that day—when the water rose to their stomachs, when the world was sideways and the only sounds Ardyn could hear were screams and the murderous crash of waves, he prayed. Hard. To whatever God—being, creature, spirit, whatever—might listen.

He made a promise to himself. He vowed that if he survived that awful night, Ardyn would no longer brood for what he’d lost. He’d no longer scorn the company of the other men, thinking himself superior. He would…he would not be covetous about his time above deck in the fresh air. He would just be thankful to be alive.

The only thing he would covet, he told himself, was his own life. His own survival. That was all that mattered.

He was lucky to be alive. Ardyn said this aloud as he watched a handful of men be swept out to sea. He scrambled to safety and prayed for his life over and over again.

The following morning, when the storm passed and Ardyn was still alive, he decided to make good on his promise. 

He stopped longing for the healthy caress of the sun. For his old life. Instead, he came to accept the fact that his greatest treasures were his beating heart and the air in his lungs. 

_A beating heart and the air in your lungs. That’s all you need._

It became a mantra inside Ardyn’s head. His regret lessened quite a bit after that. Now he saw the world through the eyes of what he was: A caged animal. Constantly looking for a way to save his own neck. 

That was fine. It would have to be fine. Because it was only June and they still had a month left at sea. Beyond that, New South Wales loomed in the distance. At once the promised land (at last an end to this cursed voyage!) and hell itself (the dreaded hard labor sentence). Whatever New South Wales turned out to be, Ardyn knew he needed to keep his priorities in order. 

Just his life. That’s all he needed. Nothing else. Not cleanliness, not comfort, not friendship, not humanity. _Nothing_ else. 

——————-

_Port Jackson,  
_ _New South Wales  
_ _July 1832_  

They did stop in South Africa, but the prisoners were not allowed to get off the ship. As a result, most of the men sat below deck making lewd remarks from between the gaps in the planks at all the passersby on shore. (Ardyn respectfully refrained, though he’d never seen women in getups like… _that_ before…it was…well…how should he describe it?)

So, their arrival in Port Jackson was the first time Ardyn set foot on solid ground since he left London. And yes, he almost fell flat on his face the moment he tried to walk across the beach. However, he was clapped in irons around his wrists and ankles, chains linking both manacles. Furthermore, he was on what they called a chain gang. The manacles on all the men’s feet were connected. If he fell over, Ardyn was quite sure he would knock over the nearest blokes, and not be able to stand up again on his own. Not an auspicious start. He did his best to stay on two feet. 

In Port Jackson, Ardyn got his first glimpse of the colony. It was huge—much bigger than he expected. Like a scaled down version of London. Smaller buildings, less dense, but similarly fashioned. Further out, Ardyn saw the road that led to New South Wales proper—and the giant wall surrounding the entire colony.

 Unscalable, so it was said. Though that didn’t stop many men from trying their luck. 

In the governor’s house at Port Jackson, Ardyn was interviewed briefly by the superintendent to ascertain his situation and where he would be sent off to. Most convicts who came through the port these days, the superintendent (a rotund man with early signs of alcoholism) said, were cordoned off to the Hyde Park Barracks where they would work for private contractors. No pay, of course. Work on the colonies was a kind of…indentured servitude. One worked to pay off their sentence, their time to government, rather than for wages.

When the superintendent asked for his skills, Ardyn leapt into an explanation of how he’d studied medicine in England. He was more or less a doctor, even though his license to practice had been revoked during his sentencing. He’d gone to boarding school, could read and write well! He had little experience with craftsmanship, but was somewhat gifted working with sums. He might be able to work as an assistant in the offices or in the records department. 

“Hmmm…” The superintendent scratched his chin. “Well, we have enough docs down at the hospital already. And the new contracts the governor just bought ain’t for office work I can tell you that.” He rubbed his nose with one stubbly finger. “But, seems a shame to waste an educated man…”

Thinking it over in his head a few times, the superintendent reached into his desk for a fistful of papers. He adjusted his glasses a few times as he read through the sheets. 

Those were the contracts he’d been speaking of. Ardyn could tell that from the title in scrawling calligraphy. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still in his clothes from London. Sea tossed and rather filthy. He had not looked in a mirror since the day of his sentencing. Although Ardyn claimed to have the experience of a learned man, he was sure his appearance was the same as every single other convict who came off that boat. 

And this man who’s eyes could barely stay open on their own held Ardyn’s fate in his hands. It was becoming a familiar feeling, other people deciding the course of his life. 

“Nah, sorry, mate.” The superintendent shook his head. “Governor really needs people out in the field right now. So, to the Barracks with you. Ward 15. They’ll teach you how to work, I reckon.” 

So that was his fate. Ward 15. ‘The fields,’ whatever that meant. It should have been a slap in the face—to be relegated to hard labor when Ardyn could certainly do much more for the colony as a man of medicine, but…at this point, slaps in the face felt more normal than they used to.

He had been expecting something like that. No way out of hard time.

After he told him his destination, the superintendent explained that Ardyn’s ten year sentence might very well be converted to seven years with good behavior and sufficient work. 

“Often have men shavin’ a few years off their sentence by working hard, keeping their nose to the grindstone.” He said ‘men’ like ‘meh-yan’ and ‘grindstone’ like ‘groinstun.’ It took a few moments for the words to process in Ardyn’s unfamiliar ear. 

(Some of the people in New South Wales, Ardyn quickly realized, spoke with a distinct accent. Slow and twangy, with a slight lilt on the “I” and “ah” sounds. It was an accent particular to this region of the world, maybe. One that had developed over time. By now, several generations had been born and raised in Australia. Colonials they were called. They had their own way of life, and their own peculiar dialect.)

But seven years sounded promising! Ardyn had every intention of making his time here go as smoothly as possible. No desire to make waves, no half-assed attempts at escape or jeering at the guards. He intended to be a model ‘citizen’ (prisoner, really) and try to get out as early as he could.

As long as he still had a beating heart, Ardyn would get through this. Whatever work they gave him.

Yes. He would.

After assigning him, the superintendent gave Ardyn the blue coat and striped yellow shirt particular to the prison colony. Along with a spare. These were to be his clothes year-round. Rain or shine, winter or summer. At least it came with a woolen cap to keep his head covered. Some buckles to keep his pants up. New shoes—thin soled, but they fit him.

Outfitted like a proper convict (given some time in the nearby latrine with a bucket of water, which felt like heaven), Ardyn was sent to the Hyde Park Barracks by caravan. It was his first chance to see New South Wales for real. 

Once he got passed that giant wall, Ardyn could not say he was impressed. Here too was another scaled-down version of London, this one bigger than the Port. But nothing eye-catching or noteworthy. It looked…normal. Cobblestone streets and dirt roads. General stores, workshops, a few governmental buildings, a post office. A long hospital building in the west. 

With the Barracks looming ominously in the distance. 

While Ardyn bounced around in the caravan, eyes wide open, they passed the town square. Here—right here, in the middle of the square—was a shirtless man tied by the wrists to a long pole. Behind him stood a man with a long whip, and oh. Ardyn realized exactly what he was about to witness.

A man in a white coat stood by, observing. The doctor presumably. Meanwhile the man with the whip called out a number every time he struck. The nearly naked man (he was wearing the grey pants of the convicts), cried out in agony with each lash. His back was painted red. Dark stripes bloomed wherever the whip fell. Thirty lashes already. The prisoner was bleeding profusely. Some of his skin looked…mobile. Like it might slide off at any moment—

“That’s enough, McDonagh,” the doctor called, stopping the scourger’s whip. “We’ll leave it at 37 for today, I think.” 

“Guv says 50’s the limit,” the man—a burly, bald bloke who flexed the whip in his hands like he was born to wield it, yet still wore the convict’s uniform—replied.

“Yes, but I think his safety is at risk, now.” The doctor ordered some men to untie the prisoner, who was writhing in agony. On his knees, sobbing. “I think he’s learned his lesson, alright?” 

The caravan pulled away from the scene. Ardyn shut his eyes, wishing the bloody afterimage of that unfortunate prisoner would disappear from behind his eyelids. 

Dear lord. Was that the punishment here? Fifty lashes? You could kill a man like that...

Ardyn folded his hands together tightly. Clenching until his knuckles turned white. Such horrible treatment… No, but it wouldn’t happen to him. He’d keep his head down. Ardyn would follow the rules to every extent. He’d never give the guards or the scourgers a reason to whip him. No, no. Never. 

Because, let’s be honest, Ardyn’s hide was not that tough! He’d be dead after 10 lashes at most.

And, all in all, Ardyn rather preferred to keep the skin on his back. 

————————-

_Hyde Park Barracks  
_ _New South Wales  
_ _July 1832_

That first night in the Barracks. Ardyn would never—as long as he lived, as long as his feet travelled this earth—forget it. 

He arrived just in time for dinner. All the men ate in one large mess hell. There had to be close to 1,000 men in the hall at once. The guards shoved Ardyn into a random seat and threw a bowl of stew at him. Ardyn was excited for the stew—he hadn’t eaten anything but watery gruel on the Westmoreland—but as soon as he helped himself to a spoonful, he was sorely disappointed. The broth was nothing but hot water and the beef was chewy and tasteless. The vegetables were thickly cut, but they left him hungry. The bread they served on the side was questionable at best. Stale and hard. Ardyn picked at it, but didn’t eat it. Still, it felt good to have something solid in his stomach. 

After eating, the guards escorted him to the room he’d be sharing. Ward 15 on the second floor. Every head in the ward turned to face Ardyn as soon as the guard opened the door, announcing the arrival of a new bunkmate. ‘Friendly neighbor,’ the guard said.

“Enjoy. Play nice, ladies.” 

Thrown in with the rest of the men, Ardyn crept his way through the rows of hammocks. Including Ardyn, there were 17 men in the ward altogether. They all kept staring at him. Quiet. Just staring. Reading him. Trying to decide exactly what kind of ‘neighbor’ they would be living with for the foreseeable future.

Ardyn found the hammock with his number (1013). He slid onto the dirty, gritty canvas without a word.

“How’s that throw-off, chums?” A man with high-pitched, scratchy voice shouted. “This new chum just gave us the old stow-mang.”

“Proper mouth, ain’t he?” 

“Oi, Murphy’s Countenance, you just get off the boat this morning?”

Ardyn closed his eyes and tried not to listen. First of all, he had no idea what they were saying. It was like they were speaking in some kind of code. Second of all, he could tell from the laughs that they were trying to rile him up. Making him into some kind of joke.

That was fine. He could take that. He just needed to survive. He didn’t need any kind of camaraderie with these men. Let them laugh and say all these inscrutable things…

“Got ourselves a lag what’s nuts upon hisself, don’t we?” 

“Nappin’ his bib first lights out, I wager.” 

“Post you that, Planter.” 

On and on the banter went. Ardyn wondered if they were even still talking about him anymore. How would he even know…he couldn’t make heads or tails of their speech. 

Eventually, the guard pounded on the door and told them all to shut up. Announced that it was lights out. Right on cue, the convicts blew out all the lamps. Leaving the ward in complete darkness. 

Now, Ardyn felt it was safe enough to open his eyes. He stared out at the moon through the barred window. At least here in the barracks they had a window. Better than the Westmoreland, that’s for damn sure.

About a half hour into the night, the men started to move around. Ardyn felt it at first, little shifts in the weight of the hammocks. But there were almost no sounds. They were remarkably quiet for such large men. Ardyn watched curiously as the shapes in the darkness congregated around the open window. They reached into the floorboards and pulled out a candle—small, not more than an inch of wick left, some playing cards and an earthenware bottle. When the candle was lit, the men quietly—using some hand signals to communicate began playing cards. Taking swigs from the brown, opaque bottle in turns. 

They were a group of about six or seven. Ardyn watched from the shadows, trying to listen hard enough to hear the words they were whispering to each other.

But it was just more gibberish. More code. Still, it seemed they had no other business besides playing cards and drinking. 

Simple enough. Even though they could get in trouble if caught. Why risk it? Ardyn wondered. He observed them for a while longer. 

They were men of various ages and builds. An older gentleman with graying hair who nodded with a pleased smile on his face as they whispered. A man with dirty spectacles who swore like sailor with a latency of about five second in between each curse. A man with thick black hair and a serious face, who said nothing the entire time they sat together.

These men had clearly formed a close knit circle. A…gang, maybe. Of some kind. Since they could communicate without many words at all. 

The biggest man of the group sat with his back against the wall. He was not physically the largest in the ward—that title belonged to a rather heavyset man snoring loudly in his hammock—but he had the most muscle. In fact, he didn’t even bother to wear a shirt. (The balmy night left everyone sticky anyway.) The hard lines of his well-built body were frankly terrifying in the dim candlelight. Ardyn had never seen a man that muscular before. 

And he was…well. That is to say, most of the men in the ward were white. Fair-skinned. This man was clearly black. Not that Ardyn had never seen a black man before! He had; there was a black man who worked in the shop where Ardyn bought his boots and another who worked at the bar in Ardyn’s most frequented tavern. He’d met and conversed with people of other races on…a handful of occasions, certainly. 

But this was different. Now they were sharing quarters. To be sharing quarters was a little…well, Ardyn just hadn’t imagined it until now. That’s all. However, he'd already seen a handful of black men on the colony in a variety of roles. Firstly, the convicts at the dinner table and hard at work amongst the others. And also men about town who worked for the governors for money. Or lived on the colony with the other free men and women because they were colonials. So, Ardyn knew right away that he would have to get used to this.

One of the other men leaned in close to this dark-skinned man in the middle. “ ‘Ey, Zoo,” the other man said. Then he gestured with his chin over at Ardyn. “Nosing our flats, that new chum.” 

The shirtless man glanced in Ardyn’s direction. Their eyes met for a moment. 

Ardyn nearly choked.

He closed his eyes immediately, turning over on his hammock. He didn’t know why he was frightened to have been spotted—it hardly made a difference! They were just playing cards out there in the open! Was Ardyn not supposed to look? What did it matter? 

But still. It felt like being caught. 

“Whaddaya reckon, Zoo?” another man asked. 

“Hmm.”

Ardyn listened as quiet, heavy footsteps approached him. He knew somehow it was that man. The one in the middle. (What did they call him, ‘Zoo?’ So it sounded. What the hell kind of a name was that?) He wished now that he had not been looking—which, again, was a bizarre wish. Looking at other people was hardly a crime—

“Oi, you.” A hard, rough hand nudged Ardyn’s shoulder. Once, then twice. Forceful enough that Ardyn could not ignore it. 

Regretfully, Ardyn turned onto his side to face his inquisitor. He was met with an intense stare of a flat, unamused face. Ardyn recognized two things at once: First of all, he had no intention whatsoever to get on this man’s bad side; because this man might be able to crush Ardyn’s whole head in his hand with very little effort. Second, this man must have a mixed race background. African and some kind of European. His skin was dark brown, like stained oak, and his eyes were light green. A hazel that flashed dangerously, even though they were in shadow. 

“What’s on, then?” the man asked. His voice was deep, but he spoke in a recognizable accent: Cockney! 

At last a vernacular Ardyn could decipher!

“I…” Except, what in the world could Ardyn say to him? That he didn’t want any trouble? This wasn’t a mugging. They were more or less in the same position, weren’t they? 

“…Erm, yes well. I just got off the boat today and I’m…I’ll be in this Ward, so…”

All the men nearby groaned loud enough to wake a few of the others. “Cove! A rag-gorgy!” 

“Fine swell, ain’t he?”

“Cove-chum!” 

“Tch.” The man standing over Ardyn shook his head in dismissal. “ _London_.” He practically spat the word. Giving Ardyn his back, he walked away in apparent disgust. Resuming the illicit card game with his friends. 

It seemed Ardyn had been tried and found wanting. In whatever court this was. 

Well, perhaps it made sense by some standards. Ardyn spoke with a crisp London gentleman’s accent. Nothing like the Cockney, Irish, northern, east-end, Welsh, Scottish, and Australian accents he’d heard in the mess hall. So, to say that he stood out would be quite an understatement. 

However, Ardyn had no way of reading this man’s—indeed this entire group’s!—dismissal of him. Were they going to just leave him to his own devices? Ignore him for the most part, as an outsider? Or…would this be a red target mark on his back? 

Ardyn hardly slept at all that night, worried what that pronouncement meant. _“London.”_ Said with such hatred. A bane or a boon? How should Ardyn read the signs of these men—these convicts…? These people he’d be sharing lodgings with for the rest of his sentence. 

He got his answer the following morning. The bell rang at dawn. The men all got up at once, threw on their shoes, and went down to the mess hall for their breakfast. It seemed almost everyone sat by Ward when they chose their seats. So Ardyn, who knew not one single soul in this entire colony, sat at the long table with the rest of the men from Ward 15. 

As soon as he sat, the other men visibly bristled. Ardyn could sense their animosity, but he had nowhere else to sit. Was he just supposed to pick up his bowl of stew and take it elsewhere? Was that even allowed?

Better just ignore it. Ardyn squared his shoulders and began eating. Pointedly ignoring the rude stares from the rest of his ward-mates. If he just showed that their hostility didn’t bother him, then things were bound too smooth out on their own—

Before Ardyn could bring even the first spoonful to his mouth, something slapped the bowl out of his hand. Sending stew and cutlery clattering to the floor in a hot, squishy mess. Ardyn opened his eyes and found the dark-skinned man (wearing a shit now, at least) standing before him. Hazel eyes gleaming. Ready to fight if Ardyn had the balls to take him on. 

His posture and everything in his face begged the question, _What are you going to do about that?_

He effectively called Ardyn’s bluff. Ardyn did not have the balls to do anything about it—hell no, he could not beat this man in a fight! He was no pugilist trained from the nursery! He was an ordinary London gentleman who used words to solve a fight, not fists…as his father taught him…

The mess hall was quiet as they watched Ardyn and the man called Zoo stare at each other. 

When it was clear Ardyn had no move, Zoo shrugged and turned away. Spitting under his breath again. “ _Nancy,_ ” he said this time. Ardyn heard him loud and clear. It was the first time anyone had ever blatantly called his masculinity into question. 

And there was nothing Ardyn could do about that either.

“Ey, 1013!” The guards arrived finally, seeing the stew on the floor. “What’d you go and do that for?” 

“I…” Ardyn glanced back at the group of men from his ward. Following Zoo’s lead, the bespectacled man with the foul mouth casually nicked Ardyn’s mug of coffee as well. 

Oh. So it seemed Ardyn had been picked as a target. And Zoo—if that was indeed his name—had just established Ardyn for what he was: Easy pickings. 

Ardyn glanced back up at the guards. It seemed they were not paying attention to anything that just happened. Either that, or they were being willfully ignorant. Maybe the men in Ardyn’s ward had some connection, some “understanding,” with the guards. Might explain their card game as well.

Thinking fast, Ardyn realized if he called the men out for what they’d just done to him, he would have the entire ward as his enemy. Right now they were just picking on him. Schoolyard bully type stuff. But if Ardyn tried to get them in trouble with the guards…well, he’d have about 16 men who wanted him dead. He had a feeling that if 16 men wanted you dead in a place like this, that’s exactly what happened to you. 

_Survive. Just survive._

So Ardyn swallowed his pride. He pushed down his anger, his sense of how unfair this was, everything…he pushed it all down and apologized to the guards.  


“I’m sorry. My mistake.” He bent down and began to clean up the mess of stew with his bare hands. 

The guards sighed loudly and told him to get his act together. But they left him alone. Pointed glances followed behind the guards’ backs. The other men openly laughing at him. Making obscene gestures with their mouths and hands, mocking Ardyn with everything they could save actual words. It was enough. Ardyn got the picture.

_Survive, man. Just survive. Keep breathing._

Ardyn wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. His daily allotment of rations lay ruined on the ground and somehow that felt like his own fault. Even though it wasn’t! Ardyn had done nothing to invite this antagonizing—

_Survive._

That’s all he needed to do. Survive.

And so, Ardyn began his first day of hard labor on an empty stomach.

——————-

They assigned Ardyn to work in the lumberyard. It was a bustling hub of labor and there was much to do. The other convicts who worked there (about thirty altogether) knew exactly what to do when they arrived. Dusting off workbenches, clearing sawdust, rummaging through piles of unfinished timber and laying planks down on the saw belt. All the work here was done by hand. For everything New South Wales lacked, manpower was not one of those. So men toiled away with handsaws, bringing their knees up to keep the planks in place as they sawed. 

It did not look especially safe. Ardyn could see a few men sporting gauze wrappings around their hands or arms, already brownish with dried blood. He imagined injuries were quite common here.

A pudgy convict with ruddy skin and sandy blond hair explained the ropes to him. “Right so, they’re having us make wheels. For some kind of plow, probably. Wheels should be about ye-high and ye-long,” (there was a ruler nearby but the man knew the measurements well enough not measure; Ardyn wondered exactly how many wheels this man had already made). “Watch me make the first one and then you do the next.”  

Turning sawed off branches into wheels took a lot of sanding. The spokes also required sanding, which was a type of fine labor in need of meticulous tinkering. The measuring had to be exact, otherwise the holes for the spokes would not align and the wheel structure would be ruined. 

“You’re allowed one fuck-up,” the sandy haired man explained. “Mistakes are human, yeah? After that, wrecking the merchandise gets you….” He glanced over towards the door where a guard wielding a cat o’nine tails stood watching them all with a dour expression. 

Ardyn gulped. He remembered the man in the square from yesterday. (Had he dreamt about him? He remembered flashes of bright red, splashed against the cobblestone. A man’s muscles bared to the world, stripped of flesh…) 

The sandy-haired man laughed openly. Finding the newcomer’s distress funny, apparently. “Live and learn, eh? Now, get to work.” 

Ardyn took his time at first. He’d never operated a handsaw before (the most ‘labor’ he’d ever done in the past was strapping his luggage onto a carriage, so he was starting from scratch). It took him a few swings to get the angle right, and then roughly forty minutes just to saw through one plank! He was proud of himself at first, out of breath already. But then he saw the problem; by the time he was done, men had already sanded out spokes for ten wheels.

The guard approached Ardyn with a scowl. “Ey, 1013, you’re too slow.” He towered over Ardyn, tapping him on the shoulder with the butt of the whip and saying, “Pick up the pace or it’s extra hours for you.” 

Ardyn tried to work faster. He sawed as fast as his unbuilt arms could manage. After two hours, his hands were already blistered and bleeding. 

“Keep going, you,” the guard warned. His gaze was fixed on Ardyn now, making sure he finished his allotted work for the day.

Anxiety churned Ardyn’s stomach. He knew it was dangerous to keep going when his hands were bloody like this, the saw might slip. Hell of an accident waiting to happen. 

The other men seemed to have gauze. So it made sense they had it around. Ardyn turned to the guard and asked, “May I have some wrappings for my hands—”

The guard shoved Ardyn’s shoulder, forcing him to turn back to the grueling task. “I said keep going.”

Apparently gauze was reserved for more serious injuries. Or else the guard was just being an asshole for the sake of it. Day one and all. Setting the tone.

Ardyn clenched his jaw against the pain. Tears sprang to his eyes when he picked up the saw again (he couldn’t help it). Every swing of the saw dug into his skin, making it harder and harder to focus on anything except the warning bells in his head screaming at him to stop. And he still wasn’t going fast enough. The guard was also screaming, telling him to keep going. 

“Faster, faster!” 

Ardyn looked at the other convicts for help. They kept their noses buried in their work. Not making eye contact with him. 

Sweat poured down Ardyn’s face and back, soaking him through. The hot Australian sun sat high in the sky, radiating the workers beneath without mercy. (And this was supposed to be _winter_? Everything in this new world was backwards!) 

The only thing keeping Ardyn going was fear. He was so afraid of the whip in the guard’s hands. He forced himself, from somewhere deep inside, a hidden reserve of strength he never knew he possessed, to continue. The blood from his hands dripped down into the dirt. The dry ground soaked it up like water. Feeding off his blood like nourishment.

This place was hell, wasn’t it? 

They got one ten minute break in the afternoon. A mug of water. Ardyn stupidly gulped it down in one go, while the rest of the men savored the water sip by sip. How foolish—of course each man was only allowed one mug! Ardyn should have let it last. 

Live and learn, that man said. The expression bore out. 

On top of everything, Ardyn’s stomach hurt. It growled painfully, empty save for last night’s meager stew. Lifting the saw became just that much harder when his stomach yawned for sustenance. 

Let this day end, Ardyn prayed. 

Finally it did. Around 5:00, the men filed back to the mess hall. On the way, Ardyn saw some of the other convicts finishing up their day’s work. There were men laying bricks for a new building, installing windows, tilling the soil. A gaggle of men stood in the far distance, raising picks and dropping them on rocks. There Ardyn caught sight of slick brown skin and wild, thick clumps of tightly curled black hair. 

It seemed that’s where Zoo worked. Breaking rocks. No wonder that man was so brawny. He worked the most grueling job of all. 

The mess hall served dinner once everyone was seated. A chaplain said a prayer before they were allowed to tuck in. Some of the men (Catholics, Ardyn could spot the crosses tattooed on their biceps well enough) whispered their own prayers under their breath. Others just seemed bored, waiting to get on with it. 

When they were at last given permission to eat, Ardyn picked up his spoon with withered, trembling hands. He wanted to gulp down this stew as fast as humanly possible, but his hands hurt him so much he needed to move slowly. Cautiously, or else the blisters would open. 

Before he could swallow even one spoonful, Ardyn watched a long finger swipe his bowl away. He groaned, already knowing what would happen.

Zoo pulled Ardyn’s bowl towards himself, lifted it with one hand and drank the whole thing down in two hearty swallows. While Ardyn sat there watching! When he was done, he belched loudly and handed Ardyn back an empty bowl.

“Thanks, mate,” he offered. He turned back to his own bowl. Scarfing it down without a care in the world. The rest of the men from their ward laughed. 

Clearly this was funny. 

Eyes swimming with tears (which he refused to let fall), Ardyn picked up a small piece of soggy carrot, the only remnant Zoo left behind in the bowl. He popped the carrot into his mouth and tried to suck on it, making it last. It was the only food he’d eaten all day. 

The other men laughed harder when they saw that. 

Ardyn’s stomach bubbled with heavy hunger. He sipped the water in his cup, keeping his eyes closed.

It was just some bullying. That’s all. These men were just bullying him for entertainment, making his life harder because they were bored. They’d get tired of this too. They would. Ardyn would get through this. Just another day, maybe…or…

How long could Ardyn go, working like this with no food? 

————————

And so Ardyn faced his third challenge: Navigating life in the convict barracks. Every morning when he woke up, either Zoo or one of the others stole his food. Most of the time Zoo ate Ardyn’s portion himself (something of a joke in itself, since people gave Zoo shit for working the lowest tier job, breaking rocks. Saying he needed the extra nourishment). Other times he passed it to one of the other men in his group. The same thing played out in the evening when it was time for dinner.

Ardyn tried to fight back once. He elbowed Zoo’s chest as the man yanked away his bowl. Zoo pushed him back squarely in the stomach, sending Ardyn onto his backside with one sweep of his hand. Like an adult shooing away an unruly child. Ardyn was helpless against strength like that.

Fucked.

It became immediately obvious that the seven men Ardyn had observed that first night playing cards together operated as some kind of low-key gang. The bespectacled man bribed the guard outside their ward with a bit of moonshine and the guards mostly turned their backs on their little scams. Such as stealing Ardyn’s food, sleeping late to skip the mandatory Sunday morning church sessions. The guard accepted their excuses about being “worn to the born” or “feeling sick.” Everyone else (Ardyn included) had to sit on the cold pews and kneel on the stone floor, praying to a god that cared not at all for their plight. If any man made the mistake of falling asleep during the sermon, they were soundly whipped outside the church. Not having to attend Sunday services was indeed a luxury. 

It was also clear that whatever gang these men were, Zoo was their leader. The men only acted on his nod. Everyone waited for Zoo to take the first step in rousing every night for a game of cards. They let Zoo take point on harassing Ardyn, watching their leader steal Ardyn’s food or send the gruel (a type of oatmeal the convicts called hominy) clattering to the floor as if it were all staged. 

 Ardyn went five days without food. Just water in his stomach. He could feel his ribs poking through the thin flesh around his sides. Oftentimes when he stood or sat too fast he became dizzy, could hear a strange ringing in his ears. A sound that seemed to come from inside his head.

He was starving. Ardyn knew enough about the early signs of starvation to figure this out. He could feel the hunger in his bones, in his blood, in the holes of his eyes everywhere he looked. When he was in the lumberyard, straining his eyes and fingers over a set of spokes that refused to align properly (leaving him with splinters up and down his sore hands), Ardyn always searched for something he could sneak into his mouth. Anything that could be made into food. He stuffed his mouth full of sawdust at one point, just to have something in his stomach before it digested itself. That was a mistake. The sawdust made his mouth so dry he couldn’t even swallow for a good hour. Almost passed out from thirst. 

On the fifth day, Ardyn broke down.

He fell to his knees, appealing to the nearest guard with his head down. “Please, I…” Ardyn could not physically lift the hand saw anymore. “…need to rest for a moment.” 

Pride gone, Ardyn just needed one moment’s rest! His head was spinning. The world seemed too bright and yet dark around the edges. Something thick and sour bubbled up from his throat, congealed in his mouth. Another sign of starvation. 

The guard stomped over to him. “Get up, 1013. Now.” 

“Please, just a moment…” Ardyn was huffing and puffing. He couldn’t breathe. It was too hot, and yet on the inside he felt cold. “…I can’t…” 

“On your feet!” The guard raised his cat o’ nine tails threatening. “Or it’s 10 lashes right where you stand!” 

Ardyn squinted through the blazing sunlight. All he saw was the whip. Its barbed tips grinned maliciously. He saw that whip as a demon, something that might devour him from the outside in, stripping away his flesh until he was nothing. Not even a shell of a man anymore. Just a red piece of meat. 

Somehow Ardyn got up. He didn’t know how he managed it and he never would. But he got back on his feet, stood up and lifted the saw with a pair of hands that could not feel. He could barely see anything for the spots in his vision, but he was sawing again. Working at a proper speed to lower the guard’s suspicions. 

That night, Ardyn tried to sit as far away from the Ward 15 table as he could. Still, somehow one of them found him. Whistled for Zoo and lured the man over so he could hustle Ardyn out of his dinner yet again.

“I’m dying,” Ardyn stated blatantly. Perhaps he could appeal to this convict’s better nature…

Zoo wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, relishing the taste of Ardyn’s dinner. “Ain’t we all,” he answered. Unaffected.

Left to his own hunger, Ardyn tried to proposition the other men for scraps from their own meals. He did not know what he could offer in return, but he said he would listen to their suggestions. Maybe they needed something. He was kind of a doctor, and also he could…whatever, anything….Ardyn literally would have done anything for a spoonful of soup. 

None of the other convicts took Ardyn’s offer. They turned their backs. An older man whispered for Ardyn not to even bother. No one would risk pissing off the ‘Ward Fifteeners.’ That’s what they were called, that gang. The Ward Fifteeners. Or, the Fifteeners for short. No one crossed them.

So Ardyn was alone in his struggle. 

That night, as he dug his fingers into the skin on his stomach to ease the pain, Ardyn made a decision. The facts were all there. It did not take an educated man to put the pieces together.

There was no ‘better nature’ that existed in the hearts of men. Not in Delvyn, not in the Fifteeners, not in the guards, nor the ‘men of god’ who ran this place. The truth of man’s nature was a human’s basic needs: Food and water. Minutes of stolen rest. That’s what kept humankind alive, since the dawn of time! Kindness and basic decency were fanciful notions for the comfortable. Lies people told themselves to feel superior to animals. 

But Ardyn could not afford such notions. No decency had been afforded him since the moment he’d been arrested, and none ever would. So Ardyn would dispense with such a thing. 

He needed food to survive. These men weren’t letting him eat. But he _must_ survive. He must! It was either their lives or his own. 

The following day, Ardyn set to work on what he needed to do. He fished a pointy piece of brick out of the discarded pile thrown down by the brick layers. He sanded the brick with the tools in the lumberyard (beneath the workman’s table where the guards couldn’t see) until it had a sharp point on one end. Sharp enough to draw blood from the fleshy part of Ardyn’s thigh. 

He’d never done this before. Made a knife out of what was available. It made his heart hammer in his chest, out of fear of being caught. But, such were the times. This was what he must do. And, the sounds of sanding did not alert anyone. Those were the typical noises of the lumberyard. No one paid Ardyn any mind.

It was almost too easy. 

He hid the makeshift knife in the gap of his pants, the space where his empty stomach pressed against his belt. With his shirt slightly untucked, it was invisibleeven if you were looking closely. 

Just before Ardyn headed in for the night, a long green insect with wriggling antennae hopped onto his workbench. He’d seen these locust-like creatures before, but he didn’t know the name of them (who knew the names of anything native to Australia?). They were at least twice the size of any insect you could find in England. 

Without thinking, Ardyn pinched the insect between two fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. Wriggling antennae and all. It crunched loudly between his teeth, and the tiny hairs along the creature’s legs scratched the inside of his throat. But. It calmed the insistent growl of his stomach for just a moment. (Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth, sticky with some kind of black fluid, whatever that creature used as blood.) 

Not a terrible dinner. Not the feast of kings, certainly, but. Nothing Ardyn would rule out in the future. 

He took it as a good sign. Maybe he was headed down the right path, for once. If the world was willing to send something edible his way! 

Sure, if anyone discovered the aftermath of Ardyn’s plan, which they certainly would should he succeed, he might very well be sent to Norfolk Island or Tasmania, one of the worst prisons the colonies had to offer. And he would definitely get a few years tacked onto his sentence. Possibly the rest of his life. Murder was murder, after all. _But_. Ardyn simply could not go on like this! Even if they sent him away, into solitary confinement where men went stark raving mad, at least there Ardyn might be able to eat in peace.

At lights out that night, Ardyn rolled the knife between his fingers. His hands were sweating. He could see the same group of seven sitting casually around a candle (the old man in their ranks stole wax from where he worked by the docks and added it to the candle every night so it wouldn’t burn out). And of course, Zoo sat with his back against the window. His shirt was on this time, but the sleeves had been ripped off. An attempt to keep cool. The gap in his sleeves showcased the side of his chest. Ardyn focused on that spot like an eagle pinpointing the belly of a salmon—he must strike there. The soft place. Nearest the man’s heart. 

Ardyn had never considered himself a murderer before. Even after everything that happened with Mary. He’d always seen himself as a victim of circumstance. But he here was plotting to kill a man in cold blood…

No, but, that too was a product of his circumstances. Ardyn pushed away all the guilt (he was becoming quite skilled at that) and told himself he had no other choice. 

So, careful to make as little sound as possible, Ardyn slid out of his hammock. He crept along the wall, under cover of shadow. He could hear their casual conversation in cockamamie gibberish, it guided him to the far wall where Zoo sat, oblivious. He knelt behind a slumbering man—the only thing between him and his target. 

Zoo’s attention was focused on his cards. Ardyn must have watched him for ten minutes. He gripped the brick knife so hard some of the red dust crumbled to the floor.

Now or never. He _must_ survive!

Thoughts of London swarm into his mind. Delvyn. The trial. His family and friends stabbing him in the back over _nothing_ , a trivial sum of money. The agony from that betrayal set his mind into shadow. A place dark enough that Ardyn felt like maybe he could actually do this.

He went for it.

Baring the edge of the knife, Ardyn charged at Zoo. Full on running. Yelling like a beast. He plunged the knife into the man’s side, using all his energy to cut as deeply as possible. He saw the man’s heart exploding in his mind—a bloodlust like nothing else bloomed within him. Sheer will to live. He _wanted_ this man to die—!

“Oi…” 

The ward was silent. Ardyn opened his eyes slowly.

Zoo was looking at him with a confused frown, one arm raised in the air. Ardyn glanced down where they were touching. He saw—to his horror—that the brick had collapsed on impact. Apparently the brick was not sharp enough to cut through Zoo’s tough, work-hardened skin—now Ardyn was holding the blunted stump of a brick chunk. The sharpened edge lay in pieces on the floor. Nothing but red dust. There was a small cut where Ardyn had tried to pierce the man, but…a trivial wound. One that did not even require wrapping.

All eyes were locked on the pair of men: The attempted murderer and the gang leader. Just waiting in a stretch of silence that lasted an eternity. 

Ardyn dropped the ‘knife.’ He fell to his knees, knowing that death had come. Surely this man—this brute who had been hounding him ever since his arrival—would wrap his hands Ardyn’s throat and choke the life out of him. Or else, he would grab Ardyn by the hair and beat his face into the wall until reality faded.

So this was to be his fate. Death. At least Ardyn had met it with a charge, a rallying cry, instead of dying silently. Starving to death in the night. 

He put his head down, stifling the desperation inside him that told him to beg for his life. He wouldn’t do that—he wouldn’t—

Cutting through the harsh silence, Zoo threw his head back and laughed. A hearty, honest laugh. All at once, the other men in the circle joined in. Laughing as though this were the funniest thing they’d seen in years. A man trying to kill another man with a brick knife. Even the serious man with thick black hair was laughing and Ardyn had never seen him so much as crack a smile. 

They laughed for several minutes. Ardyn glanced around in shock—not sure when his death was coming. Would they draw it out? Would they torture him first? Make it painful, humiliating…?

“Oi,” Zoo said again, catching his breath. He gestured to the cut on his chest. “This new chum just fuckin’ chivved me! Wrecked my flesh-bag, too…” He pulled at the edge of his shirt, soiled with brick dust. 

The bespectacled man laughed so hard he looked as if he might choke. 

Zoo shook his head side to side, grinning broadly. He turned to Ardyn. Facing him head on. Ardyn automatically shrank back, certain that was the look of death. The muscular man raised one heavy hand…

…and plopped it down on Ardyn’s shoulder.

“Ey, not bad, London.” Zoo patted him on the shoulder a few times. He picked up the scattered pieces of Ardyn’s knife. “Hardly a proper chiv, though. Won’t do much with this.” 

He brushed the pieces into the corner, not the least bit concerned about his wound. Instead Zoo turned to the others. “Well, make room for him, then.” 

On his cue, the other men slid over in the circle, gesturing for Ardyn to join them. Hesitantly, still expecting death to come at any moment, Ardyn sat down in between Zoo and the older man. This close to the others, the tiny candle felt like a spotlight. He knew they were all watching him. His heart thudded in his chest, heavy like a weight. 

His food-starved brain could not keep up with all this.

“Give him some of the bum-charter we’ve got saved,” Zoo ordered. Right away, one of the men picked up the loose floorboard—same place they stored their cards, bottles, and candle—and fished around. He pulled up a chunk of bread. It looked old, sort of stale, but…Ardyn thought he could smell it. A tiny bakery! Lush and inviting!

They offered him the bread. Ardyn reached out a hand to take it, but quickly pulled away. Not trusting a hope. He glanced back at Zoo, fully expecting the other man to snatch it. Like always.

But Zoo was nodding in approval. “Go on, London,” he told Ardyn. “Take it. Must be hungry, yeah?” 

Ardyn looked back at the bread. He wouldn’t wait to be given permission twice. He dove on the bread with both hands, stuffing it into his mouth as if it held the secret to eternal life. 

The others laughed. “Slow down, slow down,” the elderly man next to him advised. “Gonna choke it all up, grubbin’ like that.” 

Sure enough, the bread made it halfway down Ardyn’s throat before his stomach fully rejected it. The idea of food was suddenly foreign! The bread was too thick and he had barely chewed it—too much, too soon. He coughed most of it up again, right onto the floor, and the other men groaned in disappointment. 

“There goes our bum-charter,” one said. 

Ardyn eyed the food on the floor with great sadness. He thought about picking up the half-vomit and trying again, but Zoo stopped him, saying, “Give him some of the lush.” 

They passed Ardyn the earthenware bottle. While the elderly man patted him on the back, easing his choking, Ardyn took a swig of the stuff. It tasted like gingery beer, but it was exponentially stronger than the ale he was used to. Pure fermented hops with ginger added as an afterthought to sweeten the poison. Ardyn almost coughed that up as well, but he stopped himself. Not wishing to vomit twice in front of these men. 

His tormentors. Who were now…? What…?

“How’s that?” Zoo asked, smirking. “Better, huh? Eat the rest. Slow, like. Plenty of time.” 

Ardyn eyed the other man cautiously and took small bites of bread. What kind of a game was this? Those hazel eyes—the ones that had haunted him ever since his arrival—Ardyn had no hope of reading them. Had they been playing with him this whole time, waiting for him to finally make a move in his own defense? Or were they waiting to turn the tables when Ardyn was at his weakest, vulnerable with trust? 

The bespectacled man leaned forward. He also spoke in a Cockney accent. “Guessin’ you ain’t had too many nights on an empty belly, huh?” 

Ardyn shook his head. It was true. He hadn’t. The most he ever missed meals in London was sometimes going without tea on a busy day at work. 

“Shite, isn’t it?”

Ardyn nodded. “…It is.” 

They all chuckled at that. 

“Hominy ain’t bad here,” the older man followed up, settling into a more comfortable position. He had an easy, kindly voice and a wistful smile. His eyes were a little clouded. Maybe senility had already set in. “But you gotta watch for the gray spots. Mold, that is. Mark me.” 

“Oi, new chum,” a barrel-chested man sitting opposite Ardyn barked. “You got any garnish for us? A fadge or bob-stick?”

Ardyn swallowed some bread, immensely relieved when his stomach accepted it. But the other convict was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“…what?” Ardyn could only blink in response. 

“He means money,” Zoo explained, shuffling the cards in his hand. “A farthing or a shilling.” His eyes slid back to Ardyn’s. “Hurry up and talk flash, will you?” 

“Oh, no, I…” Ardyn shook his head. “I don’t have any money.” What little he’d had from London had been swept away in the storm aboard the Westmoreland. 

“Ain’t that a dick in the green,” the barrel-chested man complained. “None of these new chums got any dimmock! Dingable cross-coves, all!” 

Amongst the grumbles, the men casually returned to their card game. Ardyn sat in their circle, chewing the stale bread. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. He’d dined in ballrooms, at table with the most noble names in England, but nothing in his memory tasted as good as the dusty bum-charter given to him by a gang of convicts.

It was bread he’d earned by trying to kill a man.

As the night wore on, Zoo introduced the others by name. They were ‘Whiskers, Fakeman-Charley, Jack Dawe, and Hawkeye Jim,’ referring to the old man, the bespectacled man, the barrel-chested bloke, and the serious man with black hair, respectively. They all nodded at Ardyn in return. 

“ ’S your name, then?” Fakeman-Charley asked him. “Cos I gots an inkling your mum named you Bluey.” 

Another round of appreciative chortles broke out. Ardyn frowned, not sure he got the reference. 

“Cos your hair, man!” Charley pointed to his head as if Ardyn were hard of hearing or slow in general. “Red ain’t it? Bet she called you Bluey for fun.” 

“Oh…” Ardyn rubbed his forehead. The numbness from his period of severe hunger was fading. In its place was abject tiredness. And he had no idea how to respond to a comment like that. Besides making no sense, Ardyn wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh along or argue. Especially because the man was mentioning his mother and usually that was done to rile someone up. 

“Ready for Ruggins, I post,” someone remarked.

Hearing the men switch between the strange code-like lingo and regular speech made Ardyn think the code was intentional. Especially now that he was learning to recognize some phrases. ‘Flash,’ Zoo called it. He’d better learn a few words. Try to stand out less.

And he was ready to pass out, if that’s what the other man meant.

For some reason, he turned back to Zoo. Silently asking if he was allowed to leave this circle or not—since Zoo was the one who invited him in the first place, the one who clearly ran things here. Ardyn would accept Zoo’s dominance if it meant he got to survive here like everyone else. 

When Zoo looked back at Ardyn, he smiled. His teeth were straight, but they’d gone slightly gray from lack of proper care. He checked his wound again, wiped some of the blood away with one finger. 

There was a strange, excited kind of curiosity in his eyes. Zoo nodded in the direction of the hammocks. “Go on. You chums look knackered. Morning bell’s in a few hours.” They began to pack up their game.

As Ardyn passed the gang’s leader on his way to the hammock, Zoo grabbed his arm and admitted, “Gotta say. Never pegged you for the type of cove what would chiv a man in the dark.”

 “Well I need to eat, as do all men, so…” Ardyn trailed off, frozen stiff in the bigger man’s hands. 

He was still very much waiting to be killed. 

“Tch, yeah, I guess.” Zoo shrugged. “Most high-born London blokes don’t last long in here. Either go mad, shack up with the guv’ner on the sneak, or drop to some kind of accident. Fester in the hospital.”

Zoo scratched his head, unearthing some dust. “Can’t blame me for trying to rush the process.” 

Actually, Ardyn felt like he could blame him. Very much so! But more than that, Ardyn was surprised how easy it was to understand Zoo when he spoke like a normal person. With a decent vocabulary. After days of hearing nothing but flash and the coarse, cruel orders of the guards, language like that was music to Ardyn’s ears. 

He wanted to sit back down and listen to Zoo talk some more. It was a reaction he’d never expected to have—and he chose to ignore it. He laid in his hammock and fell promptly to sleep, something solid in his stomach for the first time in ages.

The next morning, Ardyn very hesitantly sat at the Ward 15 table in the mess hall. He was walking on eggshells still, not sure how long their hospitality would last. He eyed his bowl of hominy, wondering if he should just eat it all before any of the Fifteeners changed their mind, or if he should wait and ask for permission again…

“Sit here, Bluey,” Zoo announced, ending the awkward silence where Ardyn had no clue what he was meant to do. He gestured to the empty space beside him. “We’re yarning for a mite.” 

Ardyn sat where he was told. Zoo’s bulky body dwarfed Ardyn’s by comparison. He was bigger in every way. All the other convicts in the vicinity were watching them, taking note of the change in dynamic. Ardyn might have felt intimidated by their ruthless gazes, but. It was hard to feel threatened with a presence like Zoo’s next to him. The thing in the mess hall Ardyn should be most frightened of was sitting less than an inch away. 

Zoo let him eat, as did the rest of the Ward Fifteeners. Jack Dawe dove into a story about his crimes stealing the lead out of houses, what the others called ‘blue-pigeon flying.’ 

Ardyn enjoyed his breakfast (his first time eating hominy, it tasted quite good). And the story, though confusing, wasn’t bad either.He hadn’t spoken to a soul since he’d boarded the Westmoreland, and being surrounded by company felt…refreshing. 

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe friendship was something he needed. A thing tantamount to survival in a place like New South Wales. 

And, while Ardyn’s murder attempt amounted to nothing, it seemed he had attained something much more valuable: The level-headed respect of his bunkmates.

 

———————

_New South Wales  
_ _September 1832_

Little by little, Ardyn was accepted into the Ward 15 gang. They showed him the ropes, explained what things Ardyn should steer clear of. For example, the scourgers. They explained that scourgers were convicts themselves in whom the guards saw a sadistic streak. They were paid actual money to whip the other prisoners, and they took far too much pride in their work. So, if Ardyn ever found himself in the company of one these men, he should just keep his head down and act obedient.

“Don’t go up against one o’ their lot unless you’ve got Zoo or Jack Dawe to back you up,” Charley advised. 

Zoo and Jack were both rather well-built, strictly in terms of muscle and strength. There were quite a few of these men on the colony and everyone either loved or hated them. Loved because they could go to these men for protection or hated because...they couldn't. It's what made Charley's advice so insightful. The scourgers were the strongest of them all. Ardyn stood no chance, either at the whipping post or in a regular skirmish (which he would patently try to avoid anyway). 

There were also other punishments. Men would be forced to wear irons around their ankles, manacled for months on end. The irons dug into your skin and made walking torturous. Beyond that, there was the dreaded ‘treadmill.’ A huge wheel attached to the grain sifter, powered by men. Walking the wheel was like walking up a steep hill, they explained, and you needed breaks every forty minutes just to survive it. The treadmill was a much-feared punishment reserved for things like laziness and insubordination. 

Ardyn had seen the men walking the treadmill with trepidation in his eyes. Some of the men were walking into an early grave, no doubt about it. 

They also told Ardyn the more favorable secrets of life on the colony. For example, a guard could easily be bribed with lush (that was, the ginger beer they made) or a few coins (pinched from newly arrived convicts, called ‘new chums’). If you wanted a few extra minutes recreation time in the yard, or if you felt like getting out of Sunday service. On Free Day, which was Sunday, you could go out around town as you pleased. Generally, convicts stayed in the bars or in the slapdash theatre houses. 

“Or, visitin’ the ward across town for a little…” Jack made a circle with his thumb and finger, sliding it up and down his opposite finger. The universal gesture for sex. The old ‘in and out.’ As he mentioned, the wards on the opposite side of the colony housed the female convicts. On a normal day they usually did not mingle, but on Free Day they were allowed. Some of the men even claimed to have sweethearts in the other barracks. Ardyn wondered how true that was.

He’d seen the type of women those female convicts were. Women straight off the streets of London. Ardyn had no interest in any kind of conjugal relations with women like that…but he supposed they were nice to look at, in their own way. 

“Where’s your sweetie been, Charley?” 

“Ah.” Fakeman-Charley smiled wistfully. “She got her ticket. She’s been outta here since June.” 

Yes, the coveted yellow ticket of leave. Most men, they explained, didn’t serve more than ten years on the colony until they were given leave by the governor’s office. A kind of probation. After that, it was a short while before men would be released entirely, free to go back to London or wherever they liked. 

Ten years. Ardyn wished the concept of that still meant something to him. He’d only been in New South Wales for two months and it was….it felt like nearly a lifetime. 

In September, the guards changed Ardyn’s job at the lumberyard. They explained that most of the lumber had already been used, so it was time to forage for more. They gave Ardyn an axe and brought him, long with the other workers, to a thin stretch of forest. The men were supposed to chop down trees, pass them to the next man who would begin the laborious process of stripping the bark.

The trees were not that thick around, but…Ardyn had never held an axe before in his life. He tried to copy the other men, but even so. Swinging his axe made a few dents in the tree’s bark, not at all in the same place.

By the first break, Ardyn had not even gotten halfway through his first one. He was ready to pronounce this task impossible.

“Heh, figured you’d be flounderin’.” 

Out of nowhere, Zoo appeared next to Ardyn. It was quite a shock, considering that Zoo worked near the cliffs and most convicts did not venture beyond their post during break. 

As always, Ardyn got a kind of queasy feeling in his stomach when he saw Zoo. The bigger man still intimidated him. Made him trip over his words (something Ardyn normally _never_ did), made his palms begin to sweat with nerves. Zoo was wearing his sleeveless shirt again. His bulky arms were hanging out like two bludgeons waiting to strike. They were so huge, Ardyn could see the veins snaking underneath Zoo’s flesh, rippling like little streams.

Ardyn was staring at Zoo’s arms. He hadn’t meant to stare, but….how could he not? The picture this man made when he was just _standing_ there…

“I came over to see if you’d lobbed off one o’ your own mitts yet.” Zoo picked up the axe Ardyn laid down on the ground while he sipped his water. 

In Zoo’s hands, the axe looked natural. Ardyn realized why this man had called him a nancy the first time they met. Compared to him—to Zoo, toned to the very soles of his feet, wielding an axe like he’d been born to do it—Ardyn was practically a woman. Dainty and untouched by toil. 

The thought angered Ardyn, of course. But also… He rose to his feet. Their eyes were locked together. Ardyn didn’t know what to say but he had a feeling Zoo could read it on his face anyway (this man missed next to nothing). Right now Ardyn was not entirely ashamed of his own thoughts, but...still. He wasn't used to being seen by such unyielding eyes. 

He wanted to learn from Zoo. He wanted to be more like this man, if he could.

“Here, let me show you how it’s done.” Zoo held out the axe.

When Ardyn took it, Zoo moved behind him in one smooth step. His arms crossed around Ardyn’s body, settling on the smaller man’s wrists. He moved Ardyn’s hands apart slightly. 

“There,” Zoo affirmed. “Better. More grip.” 

He tightened Ardyn’s fists around the axe. His chest was pressed against Ardyn’s back—it was like leaning against a house. Zoo’s arms were solid, the palms of his hands were tough. But, his fingers…Ardyn’s brow creased when he saw Zoo’s fingers. They were long and slender, but there was so much power behind them…Ardyn had a strange desire to inspect them. Closely. Touch them, bend them. _Know_ them. He’d never seen fingers that unique before.

Hell, he’d never met anyone like Zoo in his whole life. Coarse and cruel on the outside, while at the same time strangely protective of those in his inner circle. Untethered. Smart but also strong. Zoo wore his intelligence on the inside, letting the intimidating shape of his body do all the talking. But he saw everything that went on in the Barracks; men reported to him as if reporting to a military commander. And he had remarkably good intuition about people. 

Zoo was his own breed of person. That much was clear from the beginning. Ardyn was far too comfortable in his company. Trapped between his arms, at present. 

Zoo taught Ardyn how to swing the axe properly. Together, Ardyn could feel the power surging through the other man’s movements. It…gave him a thrill. 

For the first time in ages, ever since he’d been arrested, Ardyn felt a thrum of excitement rise in his chest. Tingly and warm. He was hyper aware of the other men who must be watching their spectacle (two men swinging the same axe), but he was not ashamed. He felt proud in a way to have Zoo, the man everyone respected, instructing him properly. More than anything, Ardyn was aware of the other men because….he suddenly wished he and Zoo were alone.

“You should be good now.” Eventually Zoo let Ardyn go. Break was nearly over. “Keep your eyes where you want the blade to go, alright? Else you’ll waste daylight swinging that thing round ’n round.”

He slapped Ardyn on the shoulders, hazel eyes twinkling. There was always another layer to those eyes. Something brewing beneath the surface. Ardyn wished he knew what.

When Zoo walked away, Ardyn watched him go. The wide board of the man’s back tapered away around the hips and gave way to a backside that bulged out ever so slightly. The softest curve on him. Firm but surely supple…

Ardyn gulped. He did not know why, but there was extra saliva in his mouth.

“Break’s over, back to work!” The guard roused the men back into position. 

That afternoon, Ardyn chopped down three whole trees. He hadn’t even thought he’d get through one! But with Zoo’s guidance, Ardyn had a much better idea how it was supposed to go. 

“Thanks for the help,” Ardyn told their leader that night in the Barracks.

“What help?” Zoo snorted dismissively. “I’s just stretchin’ my legs on break.” 

It wasn’t the way of the convicts to acknowledge the favors they did for each other, unless someone was planning on paying them back. Ardyn wanted to pay Zoo back—for the lesson in axe-swinging, and also for accepting him into his gang, letting him eat regular meals now. But Zoo never asked for anything. He didn’t need to. He knew Ardyn had nothing. What kind of payment could Ardyn possibly give? 

His debt to Zoo planted itself firmly in his heart. He would find some way to repay him. Besides being Ardyn’s tormentor, Zoo was also the first person to show Ardyn a bit of kindness ever since Mary died. 

That kindness lodged in his heart as well.

———————

_New South Wales  
_ _January 1833_

As time went on, Ardyn needed to admit to himself that he had…feelings for Zoo. He wasn’t quite sure what to call them. They were puzzling to say the least. Most of the time, Ardyn was wholeheartedly afraid of Zoo. Afraid of crossing him and going back to the bottom of the ranks, or else afraid Zoo might one day snap and decide he’d like to murder Ardyn for fun. Realistic fears, to be fair. 

But, at the same time, Ardyn could not stop staring at Zoo whenever he was in the room. His presence drew Ardyn’s gaze without fail. There was a deep ocean inside of Ardyn, he realized, one that roared whenever Zoo was around. A well of admiration, appreciation, and awe. Things Ardyn had not felt for anyone before, man or woman. Yes, he’d courted women in London, even enjoyed some night where fallen women chose to give it up to him, but that was nothing like this. Nothing like the incessant _feelings_ he endured whenever Zoo came close to him.

Captivation. Excitement. A kind of…hunger. Ardyn was enthralled by Zoo. 

He did not know what to do about that, either. He did not even know what he wanted to do! Going soft on another bloke was one thing—although, Ardyn would hardly choose to describe himself as ‘soft’ these days; most mornings he awoke to a raging hard-on he had no way of dealing with (while many men were comfortable masturbating in broad daylight in front of twenty other men, Ardyn was not in the same boat). That aside, being starry-eyed over a guy was startling enough. Ardyn could not remember being attracted to men before, the sort of inverted proclivity some men entertained back in London. He would have no idea how to…indulge in such desires should the opportunity arise!

Would they kiss? Would they touch? Would Zoo even find him appealing? Would Zoo consider the whole thing a disgusting perversion, rightfully so? 

As a result, Ardyn tried to keep his feelings to himself. He ran in circles at Zoo’s every beck and call—the least he could do, really—and privately relished the time they spent engaged in conversation. Those were moments he could look forward to.  

And yet every night, Zoo appeared in his dreams. Bare-chested, arms out. Smiling. Sweaty. As filthy as they all were (Ardyn had seen himself in a mirror the other day for the first time since 1831 and had barely recognized the long-haired, wild-eyed man he’d seen). But _inviting_. Letting Ardyn touch as he liked—

That, Ardyn could unequivocally say he desired. He wanted to touch Zoo. The smooth skin, the trail of wiry hair on his abdomen…Ardyn didn’t know what else, but he would touch wherever Zoo asked him to…

Hence, his problem rising in the morning. At full-stand nearly every time. In a way it made sense; he hadn’t taken care of himself since before he boarded the Westmoreland nearly a year ago. But in another way it was complete madness! Being attracted to a man that nearly killed him! The same man who now capriciously watched over Ardyn like a benefactor…it was all so backwards. Everything in Australia was upside down. Winter was summer, summer was winter. Cruelty was kindness. The scum of the earth was Ardyn’s most coveted treasure. 

He might be going mad.

In the sweltering month of January—the hottest month of the year, men said—the superintendent announced that he had a new job for the Ward 15 boys. 

“Road building!” 

He sounded cheery, but the rest of the men groaned deeply. The largest man in the ward even started weeping openly. Ardyn turned to Zoo to gauge the reaction. Zoo looked at Hawkeye Jim who shook his head sadly, as if they had both been expecting this unfortunate turn of events.

“Alright, alright, quit your belly-aching!” The guards fingered their clubs and whips menacingly. The superintendent continued, “Guv’ner wants it plowed and cordoned by the end of February. And a happy new year.”

Some of the men cursed horribly—making sure not to do so at the superintendent directly, lest they face a punishment.

“And you, 928…” The superintendent pointed one stumpy finger at Zoo. Referring to him by number. “Keep your boys in line, yeah? For God’s sake.” 

Even the guards, the superintendent himself, recognized Zoo’s command over this ward. Ardyn realized that the superintendent must have known exactly what he was sending Ardyn into when he assigned him all those months ago. Was it a punishment? For what, being educated?

Ardyn eyed the man darkly. He wouldn’t put it past him. Miserable, drunk fool.

“Right, right, sup’.” Zoo stretched his limbs. Casually, lightly threatening. “We’ll plow your road for you, right quick. …Anything else you’d like us to plow while we’re at it?” 

The men broke into coarse laughter. A tiny piece of revenge, crudeness. Their only weapon. 

“Watch it.” The superintendent folded his arms angrily, not too startled by the lewd comment. He’d certainly heard worse. “Roll out at dawn. You lazy buggers get the day off today to prepare. Don’t get too drunk or you’ll be starting your road work on the treadmill.” 

As the guards closed the door behind them, the men whooped and yelled their goodbyes. Some of them turned right over and went back to sleep. Others grumbled loudly about how awful it was they were on road building duty. The governor must have it out for them! 

“What does road building entail?” Ardyn asked Hawkeye. 

Hawkeye didn’t talk a lot. He seemed much more comfortable with silence. (No one even knew what he was in for, yet he’d been here the longest by far.) But if you asked him a question directly he would answer. 

“Running,” Hawkeye replied, chewing some tobacco he had bought off one of the guards. “Fair dinkum load of running. And the bush.” 

In this case, running actually did mean running. And the bush referred to the literal bush, the Australian wilds. The men from Ward 15 left the colony and were sent into the unsettled territory to make a road that stretched between the Port and a new settlement towards the west. And by plowing—as the superintendent said—the men would in fact be plowing the field to make a path. With their own two feet. 

There was far less subterfuge involved in all this than you might have thought.

Basically, the men were strapped to a plough from back to chest—four blokes abreast. The were substitutes for horses, in a certain way. The ran the ploughs across the bush, pulling up weeds and grass and leaving bare dirt in their wake. As they ran, men followed behind and laid wooden planks on either side of the road to indicate a path. 

It was by far the most grueling work Ardyn had been asked to do yet. 

Under the sweltering sun, pulling a load of machinery with the strength of his shoulders. Running at full speed and going barely faster than a walking pace, he was so laden. Surrounded on both sides by sweaty bodies.

After three days of this, Ardyn thought he might die. He tripped once, weighed down by the weight from his shoulders. Crushed under the unbearable heat and the sheer exhaustion. The load on his back that never went away….

Suddenly Zoo was at his side. He untied himself from his own plough and ran straight to Ardyn as soon as he saw him fall.

“Get up, Bluey.”

Ardyn was kneeling in the dirt, unfeeling. Disoriented. He could not feel his legs or his arms. He would have been faced down if he were not still strapped to the plough. As it was, all the workers needed to stop when Ardyn collapsed. Their plough couldn’t go.

Zoo took Ardyn’s drenched face in both hands. “Come on, you gotta get up. Trappers won’t let up…”

On cue, the guards approached the stalled plough. “1013! On your feet!”

Feeling as if he were outside his own body, Ardyn face lolled uselessly in Zoo’s hands. “…I…cannot…” 

He was so thirsty. His head was pounding. Zoo’s hands felt nice on his cheeks. His green eyes were the only thing Ardyn could see clearly. He wished he could tell Zoo that this was his end. This—the middle of nowhere in Australia—was where he fell. He could not go on.

“Yes you can. Yes you _can._ ” Zoo tried to lift him from the armpits. Ardyn was limp as a ragdoll. His legs buckled underneath him. “Come on, _London_ …” 

“1013, it’s 20 lashes for laziness! On your feet, blighter!” 

Seeing that Ardyn was as useless as a sack of flour, Zoo held out his arm to the guards. Shielding his downed bunkmate. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright. He’s got this. We’re fine.” Zoo tapped the convict next to Ardyn. “Oi mate, switch with me, yeah?” 

Not needing to be told twice (he wanted no part of this), the other convict unstrapped himself and filled in the empty spot on the plough Zoo left behind. Meanwhile Zoo fit himself into the spot next to Ardyn. He untied Ardyn’s straps and looped them around his own, hooking his arm across Ardyn’s chest. Effectively carrying Ardyn on his back at the same time he bore the plough-space for two men. 

He turned back to the guards with a forced smile. “See? No problems. Right as rain, ain’t we?” 

Shaking their heads in disgust, the guards turned away. This kind of thing was not usually allowed, but they were all tired. Guards included. They just wanted to make it to the next resting point where they could set up camp for the night. 

“Alright, London, alright.” Zoo shifted Ardyn’s weight on his shoulder. “We’ll do this.” 

Ardyn laid his head on Zoo’s back. He was aching all over, but…being this close to Zoo made him feel as if he were nestled against a piece of heaven. He curled his arms around Zoo. His lifeline. The one thing keeping him alive in this hellhole…

When he woke up next, they were back at camp. With the sun down, the heat was much more bearable. A few of the other men had offered up their water rations to Ardyn, just to keep his head cool. Hawkeye Jim was sopping Ardyn’s forehead. Slapping his face periodically to get him to awaken. 

One thing that could always be said about the Ward Fifteeners: They never turned their backs on their own.

“Z-zoo…” Ardyn rose into a sitting position, searching for his savior. (Those guards might have very well beaten him to death out there, were it not for their fearless leader.) 

“He’s out in the billabong,” Hawkeye answered. “Swimming.”

“The…what?” 

“Go and see.” 

Ardyn had just suffered a terrible case of heat stroke. But, he wanted to go. He needed to see Zoo. He needed to thank him…he’d saved Ardyn’s life—

Outside, the men had found a small clearing with a crystal clear pond. What the men called a billabong. They had ditched all their clothes, paddling gleefully in the nude. Even though it was a chilly evening, the men whooped happily. Glad finally for a chance to be clean. 

Ardyn, walking on wobbly knees, spotted Zoo immediately. He looked bright and fresh—as if he had not been carrying the weight of a man and twice the ploughing work. Zoo looked happy, paddling around in the water with a big smile on his face.

Ardyn ran to the edge of the pool. Transfixed by the sight of Zoo’s bare chest, water trickling down his rough skin in rivulets. Ardyn wanted to touch those little streams, feel them run over his hands…lick them…he was so thirsty, he wanted to take his drink from Zoo’s own body…

“Ey, there he is! Bluey!” The men had spotted him. “Come in, then!”

Zoo’s eyes brightened when they landed on Ardyn. “You cheeky bastard,” he called, grinning from ear to ear. “Get your arse in here, ’fore I tan your hide meself!”

Much was clear from that rude, vague threat. For one, Zoo was happy to see Ardyn on his feet again. Relieved, very much so. Also, he was not angry with Ardyn in the least for collapsing on the road. He bore no grudges about sharing Ardyn’s load. In fact, he didn’t even mention it. He just wanted Ardyn to enjoy the random, sudden bounty of the billabong with everyone else. 

An uncompromising feeling reared its head inside Ardyn’s chest. Something he’d never felt before. A fierce pull. A tie. Linking him eternally with Zoo, the bastard who’d gone and stolen his heart.

He stripped down to nothing without a second thought. Zoo watched him the entire time, and Ardyn watched right back. They shared a brief, almost quizzical look when Ardyn stood naked. Zoo’s eyes sized him up from head to toe…Then the rest of the men began hollering for him to hurry up. And the mood was broken. 

The water was just right. Cool but warmed by the sun. Fresh and clean. Ardyn basked in the pool so very happy to be alive. His life hung on the razor edge of a knife these days. Sometimes he was sure he’d live through, other times not so. But right now was a moment he could appreciate: Bare and free. His eyes kept sliding back to Zoo, hoping to add more information to his imagination. What he envisioned during the nighttime hours…

He got a fair amount. If any of the other men noticed his erection when they were drying off, no one said anything. Hell, a bunch of the other guys were erect too. If not from staring at each other then from the sheer joy of it all. 

The next day, Zoo strapped in next to Ardyn on the plough. Neither of them were certain Ardyn could handle this so soon after his fainting spell, but Ardyn needed to try. There weren’t any other choices.

“If you feel weak,” Zoo rumbled, close to his ear where the others couldn’t hear. “Just tap me. I’ll shoulder a little more of yours, yeah?” 

Although it hurt his pride—Ardyn did have some of that left, in spite of everything—he nodded. That offer might save his life again. As the daily run began, Ardyn stretched himself to his limit. He ran until his feet threatened to give out again. And then, he took Zoo up on his offer. 

Like he promised, Zoo inched closer to Ardyn and tucked the straps under his arms. He bore Ardyn’s burden just a little, where the guards could not see. Zoo was a man of his word.

For the rest of the trip, Ardyn stayed more or less glued to Zoo’s side. Even on breaks, Ardyn made sure to take his water alongside Zoo (should he need another sip, Zoo would not hesitate to offer some of his own, a benevolent thing). The rest of the men began to see them as something of a fixture. The guards as well. They didn’t question it. 

To pass the time, the two of them got to talking.

“Why does everyone call you ‘Zoo’?” Ardyn asked, shaking the rocks out of his shoes. 

“Heh, you mean it ain’t cos of my animal-like good looks?” 

Zoo flashed him a brilliant smile. To be frank, Ardyn might have agreed with that assessment, although he was not sure the rest of the men thought the same. He wanted to tell Zoo that, but the words wouldn’t materialize fast enough. He was still awkward when it came to showing his real feelings for Zoo in that way.

“Nah.” Zoo shook his head, waving the matter away with one hand. “I reckon it’s cos of my real name. Izunia.” 

Ardyn’s heart fluttered wildly. “Your…real name is Izunia?”  

“Yep. Kind of a strange one, ain’t it? Me mum is from west Africa. Near Fort Gambia I think. So it’s probably a name from around there….though, I don’t know those people from Adam, you know?” 

Ardyn didn’t know why it had never occurred to him that Zoo— _Izunia_ —was short for a real name. Of course Zoo had a family. Roots of his own. Sure, he’d thought about it, imagined it at times, but he’d never believed Zoo would want to share those stories with him. Now, to have an artifact of who Zoo was—Izunia…! He vowed never to call him anything else. Such a beautiful name. ‘Zoo’ was a paltry insult by comparison.

“It’s quite nice,” Ardyn attempted. “And how about your family name?”

“Tch, what am I, the Queen?” Izunia shook his head. “Nah. Just Izunia. Ain’t never had no other name.” 

Ardyn nodded calmly. One name was enough for this man, he thought. For some reason it bore the finesse of exactly the man Izunia was. Pleasure boiled in Ardyn’s stomach when he said the name aloud a few times. Trying it out. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Izunia looked almost bashful. “…And yours, London? What about your rag-gorgy arse?” 

“Oh, my name?” How rude! He should have given it right away! “My name is Ardyn. Ardyn Lucis.” 

“ _Ar dyn Lu cis_.” Izunia stretched the name out, pronouncing every syllable. Feigning a gentleman’s accent as he did so. Then he broke out into another playful grin. “Yeah. That suits you. Real proper-like.” 

Their eyes lingered together a little longer than necessary. It felt natural, having a piece of each others’ real selves. Ardyn knew there was nothing much to his real self—everything that Ardyn Lucis had ever been was gone now; every day Ardyn turned more and more into a completely new man. But, still. He wanted Izunia to have it. All of his secrets.

Grinning and shaking his head, Izunia slipped his hand closer to Ardyn’s on the rock where they were sitting. He brushed the top of Ardyn’s hand with his thumb, looking away. Just a small, light touch. Nothing. It might have been an accident—except he did it again. Stroked him with his thumb. Gently. Inviting. Something they didn’t need to talk about, if they didn’t want to.

Blushing, Ardyn answered the touch by raising his fingers. Curling them around Izunia’s thumb. Stroking him back. Quiet. Curious. 

They carried on like that for a few moments. Just a careful exploration of fingers. They laughed a few times, awkwardly. Not sure what any of it meant, but relieved to know that they were not unrequited. Not in this, at least. The touching.

“Alright, you lousy buggers!” The guards startled them out of their moment. “Back to your ploughs! Get the lead out!”

And it was over. They filed back to their ploughs like everyone else. But, Ardyn kept the memory of Izunia’s fingers on his skin. His hand burned where they had touched. It meant everything to him.

He felt himself smiling through the rest of the work that day. 

————————-

That night, as they settled down at camp, Izunia tapped Ardyn on the shoulder. They were in the middle of the bush—truly isolated on all sides by the vast Australian wilderness. Izunia tilted his head to indicate an outcropping of rocks. A place mostly hidden from the rest of the camp. 

Ardyn followed him there. As they went, Izunia made eye contact with Hawkeye. They shared a nod. Apparently, Hawkeye would be the lookout for them. Should the guards get wise to their scheme or should someone accidentally wander in that direction. 

 It was clear what this was. 

Ardyn did not know if he was ready for it (he was a man of 25 years old, following another man nearly ten years his senior, and they had both tried to kill each other at one point). But. He wanted to _see_. The curiosity burned inside him just as much as the desire.   

He was already hard by the time they reached the grove. His neglected manhood poked against the confines of his thin convict breeches. He was a little ashamed, to be so eager. 

“Alright.” Izunia faced him. Eyes clouded, strangely. “We doin’ this, then?” 

Ardyn swallowed hard. “I…” Talking about it was far too embarrassing. He did not know what to say. 

Izunia clicked his tongue. Impatient. Almost angry. “Get on your knees. If you want it.” 

Lowering his head in shame, Ardyn got down on his knees. He supposed it was easier for Izunia if he humiliated Ardyn while they did this. And unfortunately, Ardyn was past the point where he could protest such treatment. He’d revealed himself already. With those touches that afternoon, and with his obvious arousal now they were alone. 

He could forgive Izunia the impulse to make this about power. It was fine. Furthermore, he would show Izunia that he did not need to pressure him. Ardyn would do whatever the other man wanted just because…it was him. 

Shaking his head, Izunia reached into his pants and pulled out his manhood. Just like that. It was quite long, growing steadily as Izunia stroked it in front of Ardyn’s face. Ardyn had seen it before, when they were swimming, but never like this. Up close. Face to face with the sheer size and the overpowering smell of it. A stale, bitter odor. Unwashed flesh. The musk of man’s genitals. Brownish purple at the tip. Already a little wet. 

“Take it,” Izunia growled. “If that’s what you want.” 

Ardyn had no experience with this. He’d never been on the receiving end, either. Most of his sexual experiences amounted to quick in-and-outs with women of the night. Oral play like this was extra and Ardyn couldn’t afford to splurge. 

But now, staring at Izunia’s cock, Ardyn’s mouth began to water. He knew he should have felt like less of a man. Dirty and disgusting. It’s what this was, two men together in the middle of the wilderness. But…he didn’t feel that way. He was thrilled. Seeing the tip of Izunia’s prick was like seeing the man’s true self. An honesty neither of them could hide. 

A hard cock. Had Ardyn done this? Made it hard like that? A quiver of excitement shuddered through him. 

This gargantuan, exquisite ramrod was for him.

Dazed by the pleasure that came with the thought, hitting him like a ton of bricks, Ardyn opened his mouth. He leaned forward just a bit and licked the tip of Izunia’s cock. 

A distinct tremor passed through the bigger man. Ardyn was delighted to see it. Oh, that felt good, did it? So he licked him again. Longer this time, swirling his tongue all around the bulbous head of that prick. 

“Nnnh…” Izunia breathed out. Grunting. His lip was curled up in a sneer, but Ardyn was pretty sure it was an unintentional reaction.

Happy and turned on, Ardyn wrapped his lips around Izunia’s cock. He lapped at the head, fitting his tongue into all the hidden places. Curling around the crown, teasing the foreskin. There was a distinct taste of course, quite salty and unpleasant, but Ardyn didn’t care about that. 

He was holding the rod of his savior between his lips. He worshipped it. Lavished it with praise from his own tongue.

“Oh…. _shit_ , London…” 

Ardyn opened his eyes. Some light had returned to Izunia’s face; he looked much less troubled now. Ardyn answered that look with a smile. He brushed his cheek across the velvet cock-head, kissing along the shaft merrily. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to do this once you…saw what it is,” Izunia admitted. He cupped Ardyn’s face between his hands. Speechless.

Ardyn dragged his tongue over the whole length of Izunia’s prick. Base to tip. An answer in and of itself. 

“I want to,” he said softly. 

The clouds in Izunia’s eyes parted. Disappeared. He looked just as happy as he had that afternoon. Trying to laugh, but so very vulnerable when Ardyn had him by the dick. 

“…Fuck.” 

Dissolving into need, Izunia pushed Ardyn’s head back onto his cock. Ardyn took it without complaint. He adding some suckling motions, things he imagined must feel quite good to the sensitive parts. The vein underneath, the tip. 

“Damn _fine_ mouth you got there, London…” Izunia rolled his head in sheer pleasure. Rambling. “Used to…nnh. Used to…talking all fancy-like…but, oh _fuck_ me. You look so good on my cock.” 

Ardyn sucked him harder. He could feel the pleasure in every twitch of the other man’s body. It turned him on like nothing else. Just to relieve the tension, Ardyn palmed himself over his pants. 

This was, by far, the most erotic thing he’d ever done.

“You’re bloody _beautiful_ ,” Izunia moaned. He carded his fingers through Ardyn’s wild hair. “Your eyes…I…I’m gonna—”

Ardyn thought he could take it. The release. He wanted whatever Izunia would give him. 

But instead, the bigger man said, “Stop. Get up here.” 

Pulling away—because disobeying orders was impossible now—Ardyn rose shakily to his feet. His hands hovered around Izunia’s waist, unsure where to hold a man. Like dancing partners? Like he would a woman…? Hard to say.

“Take yours out,” Izunia demanded. He pulled up Ardyn’s shirt, making it easier for him.

Again Ardyn did as he was told. He undid his belt and pants as fast as he could, revealing his own desperate arousal to the summer evening air. 

“Tch.” Izunia ran his thumb along the length of Ardyn’s cock. Sizing him up. “This is also pretty fine…” 

Ardyn trembled, mouth gaping. He hadn’t expected it to feel so good when Izunia touched him. After all, this was just another bloke’s hand, but…Izunia’s tough skin, his confident fingers, could belong to no other. They felt like little shocks of lightning when they stroked Ardyn’s hyper-sensitive skin.

He was about to spend as well. From nothing more than a few swipes of Izunia’s fingers. 

Fortunately, Izunia knew what to do. He brought his and Ardyn’s together, wrapping his entire hand around them both. Rubbing them soundly. Efficiently. 

Somehow Ardyn still managed to cum first. His wanton moan at the moment of orgasm brought Izunia off as well. Ardyn had never cried like that before when he came, so helpless, feeling his bollocks empty themselves over and over. But. He was wrapped in Izunia’s arms, breathing the same air. Coming together felt like a revelation. An experience, instead of a natural endpoint. He held Izunia through his own climax, crying out happily when the man’s spend splashed over his hands and cock. 

They embraced each other when it was finished. Panting. On the same level now, laid bare by orgasm. 

Izunia whispered something into Ardyn’s ear. It was a joke of some kind and it made Ardyn laugh. 

For the life of him, years later, Ardyn wouldn’t be able to remember what exactly Izunia said. It’d bothered him to no end, no matter how hard he wracked his brains. 

He wished he could remember.

—————————

When they finished making the road and went back to the colony, Ardyn wasn’t sure if his tentative relationship with Izunia would last. They had two months together of crazed touching—sneaking off under cover of night whenever they could. Groping and sucking each other like their lives depended on it. 

It was wonderful.

But now that they were on the colony again, Ardyn expected Izunia might not be as interested in him as he was in the wilderness. After all, if Izunia wanted sex he could always take a stroll over in the female barracks. Certainly many of the women there would find him attractive enough to indulge him—

Ardyn prepared himself for disappointment. He was used to the feeling now. Andalthough he knew he would never forget what they’d done together (those hot nights, desperate kisses, hands grabbing whatever they could), he knew enough not to expect anything from Izunia in return. Maybe what they had was just the bush. A few months. Ardyn could be happy with that. He’d gotten off enough for a lifetime, in truth.

So, when they were settled back in the Ward 15 barracks and nightfall came, Ardyn was overjoyed to feel a tap on his shoulder in the middle of the night. 

It was Izunia. Rousing him from his sleep, dragging him over to the darkest corner of the ward where they could continue. Precisely where they’d left off. 

“Nice being back home, ain’t it?” Izunia asked, with Ardyn’s whole mouth around both his balls. Sucking them like sweet fruit. 

Ardyn’s heart burst with love. Izunia was not ready to throw aside what they had. Beyond that, he considered this their home. Not just their prison, but. A home.

“Yes, it is,” Ardyn replied.

———————-

_New South Wales  
_ _April 1835_

Years passed. Life on the colony had a certain rhythm to it. The rotation of their work. Morning bells, dinners, illicit nighttime activities. Ardyn watched new men arrive and old men depart, each with a certain kind of whimsical sadness about him. For the newcomers, they were depressed in the beginning. Desperate for freedom, trying to find their place in the Barracks. But by the time men left, they were almost sad to see the colony go. Not _actually_ sad, of course. Freedom was freedom and prison was prison. But once you adjusted, life on the colony could actually be rather endurable.

Ardyn had found his own little slice of paradise in Izunia’s arms. The labor never stopped being brutal, but Izunia’s lips never stopped tasting so delicious. Nor did his hands, the tips of his fingers, his neck, his cock, his balls, everywhere…

It actually took quite a while before Izunia would agree to fucking Ardyn properly. They did everything else—touching, rubbing, sucking, all of it; Izunia even bent Ardyn over at the waist and thrust his cock in between Ardyn’s clenched thighs. An imitation of real fucking. But when it came to the deed itself, Izunia shied away. 

Although Ardyn pressured him plenty. He wanted to tear down all the boundaries between them. Even that—especially that!

Izunia argued that he didn’t want to hurt him. “It’s not all roses your first time,” he explained, scratching his head uncertainly. “There’s pain, you know?” 

“But you’ve done this before?” Ardyn pushed. “So you know how to do it so that the pain is minimal?”

“Tch.” Izunia shook his head. “Can’t say as I’ll have much control once I’m actually…in there.” He looked away at the end. Embarrassed, but truthful. 

The thought drove Ardyn wild. He wanted to see Izunia lose control for real. “Then I don’t care. Let it be what it is. I just… _want_ you, Izunia.” 

The bigger man took a deep breath, licking his lips as he tried to reign in his own desire to fuck Ardyn over every surface of the colony. (Illegal though it was; if they were ever found out, the punishment for such acts between men would be swift and severe.) 

Eventually, Izunia’s will broke down. Ardyn was insatiable when he wanted something! Finding little ways to entice him. Taking Izunia’s fingers up his ass, raw, and moaning as if it felt good….there was a limit to every man’s control. 

When the time came, Izunia tried to make it special.

He called on Hawkeye’s help. There was a reason why he’d earned the nickname. Hawkeye knew the entire layout of the colony like the back of his hand. He could tell you which places would be empty at which times. He knew most of the comings and goings of the guards around the joint, who would be stationed where. How strict they were about keeping to their posts. So, together, Izunia plotted out a route. He would take Ardyn to an empty ward—Ward 24, the nearest to the back door. All he needed was a bottle of moonshine to bribe the guard to let them in. Luckily, the guard stationed at the post was the booziest of them all. An easy enough task.

Giggling like children, Izunia pushed Ardyn into the empty ward. Hammocks without their sleepers swung slowly in the foul breeze of the barracks. 

“Take your pick, majesty,” Izunia said with a bow. Foppish and silly. “The floor, the wall, or one of them hammocks.” 

Ardyn was breathless with laughter. The hammocks would be the most comfortable, but…how on earth did one make love laying upon a hammock? It raised too many questions. 

“The floor, kind sir,” Ardyn replied, dropping his pants and laying down on the dirty barrack floor. Ready.

Growling lustily, Izunia fell to his knees and pulled out a small cask of oil Fakeman-Charley pilfered from the kitchens for him. God knew how many favors they’d had to call in for this one.

It would be worth it.

Izunia had Ardyn that day. Good and proper. Like real lovers. Once, then twice. Then a third time, which they had to stop in the middle because neither of them had any stamina left. But now that the seal on penetrative sex had been broken—literally and figuratively—they couldn’t get enough. 

Ardyn saw perfect bliss when Izunia was inside of him. He wished they could stay like that forever. Together. He felt so much stronger when Izunia was with him. Powered by the other man’s innate strength, buoyed by his indomitable spirit. Protected. Loved, even. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks the first time Izunia fucked him. 

“What you cryin’ for?” Izunia barked when they were done. “Hurt that bad?”

“No, not at all.” Ardyn buried his fingers in Izunia’s dense hair. Massaging the scalp underneath. “It was magnificent. You were, darling.” 

Izunia laughed out loud. “Stop! Make a bloke full of himself, talking like that.” 

Ardyn’s eyes gleamed. “I have every intention of being the one entirely full of you, sir. Do keep that in mind.” 

For once, Izunia had nothing to say. 

————————-

They carried on like that though the years. A clandestine couple. The comfortable rulers of the Ward 15 gang. 

In 1835, the governor announced that prisoners would be receiving small wages in return for their labor. Because working for no pay was tantamount to slavery and all that. (This governor, Sir Richard Bourke, seemed to be a rather kindhearted fellow.) So, in May of 1835, Ardyn and the rest of the convicts received their first paycheck. Stored in a bank account in their names in the New South Wales treasury department. 

Men whooped and hollered at the idea of earning money again. Some of them spent it all on drink that very night. 

“First fistful of coin I ever earned within the limits of the law,” Charley joked. Several men agreed with him.

Izunia seemed mystified by the idea of saving money. He’d never done it before, but he told Ardyn that now he desperately wanted to. He wanted to save every penny so that when he finally got his ticket of leave he could buy some property of his own.

“Imagine that, eh?” Izunia took swigs from the lush, shaking his head in disbelief. “Me, with property? Right joke that is.” 

“No, it sounds perfect,” Ardyn said right away. He could imagine Izunia as a homeowner quite well. He’d be able to support himself with any manner of trade work. Things he’d learned on the colony.

They both would. 

Ardyn let himself fantasize about a life outside the prison colony. A life with Izunia. They could get a house together. Izunia’s sentence was up in 1838, Ardyn’s in 1839 with good behavior. Very close! Many men shacked up together once they were free. It would be normal for Ardyn and Izunia to do the same. 

When he told his ideas to his lover, Izunia nodded slowly. “…Yeah. Yeah, I could see it.” 

That settled it. Ardyn finally had something to look forward to! A future! With the man he loved at his side. 

Maybe their was a god after all. Maybe things happened for a reason. Delvyn had utterly destroyed his life in London, but. Now he was here. With a world of opportunities waiting for him just beyond the wall of the colony. 

That same year, 1835, Whiskers got his ticket of leave. He walked away with a pocketful of change and a smile on his face. It solidified the dream in all the men’s minds. 

They wanted the same.

———————

Ardyn asked once. The question men broached with each other every night of the week, but the one Izunia never spoke about.

“Why were you transported?” Ardyn asked. They were on break, sitting behind the lumberyard workhouse. Enjoying each other’s company. 

“I committed a crime,” Izunia said. Evading. 

“Yes, I know, love.” Ardyn rolled his eyes. “What crime did you commit?”

Izunia licked his lips, a nervous habit. He fiddled with the hem of his pants. “I, uh…ain’t told nobody round here about that.”

Ardyn softened his voice. “I know that too. Will you tell _me_?” 

He put emphasis on the last word, leaning on the connection between them to coax an answer out of his love. 

Finally Izunia sighed. “If you want.” He fixed Ardyn with a hard, unfeeling stare. 

“I offed my old man.”

It took a moment for the words to register. Ardyn frowned, confused at first. “You…killed your father?” 

“Yeah.” 

Silence echoed between them. Ardyn had not been expecting that. After all, murder was a hanging matter! There were not many blokes on the colony who’d been accused of murder and convicted. In order for Izunia to be here, now, there must have been extenuating circumstances. Like there were with Ardyn.

But, from the matter of fact way Izunia admitted to it…it sounded like it had been intentional. Like he’d honestly murdered his father. For his own reasons.

“…Why?” Ardyn asked quietly.

Izunia lifted his face to the sky. He wasn’t looking at Ardyn anymore. “Because he was a right piece of shit. That’s why.” 

There was a story to it. Of course there was. Eventually Ardyn would ask, and he would get all the answers he needed. They were difficult answers. Hard to suss out. But he let the issue go that day, sensing that Izunia was not ready to disclose anything more. 

It took time for matters so close to a man’s soul to be revealed. Ardyn understood.

So, instead of asking anything else, he told Izunia his whole story. Mary Aldercapt and his back-stabbing brother. The deal.

“You were a doctor?” Izunia chortled. “No wonder you know your way around a cock.”

Ardyn burst out laughing. “What on earth does that have to do with it?! They don’t exactly teach gamahuching in medical school.” 

“They don’t?” Izunia pinned Ardyn to the wall. Playfully. “Then where did you learn it, you little slag?” 

“From you. Sir.” It was the truth. Ardyn met his stare head on.

They kissed roughly. The wiry beard on Izunia’s face scraped against Ardyn’s own stubble. The kiss brought them back where they always were: To each other. 

That day Ardyn figured out why Izunia was the gang leader around the Ward. He was one of the very few men how had committed actual homicide. Most of the other convicts were not that cold. Pickpockets and house robbers, the lot of them. To have an actual murderer in their midsts…it made sense why they deferred to Izunia the way they did. And why they never talked about it.

—————————-

_New South Wales  
_ _December 1837_

So came 1837. Five years into Ardyn’s sentence. The year when Ardyn would face his last challenge. 

It was the beginning of December. Early summer. The weather had just started to turn. Izunia was working his shift breaking rocks, Ardyn was nearby chopping down trees in the forest. It was a perfectly normal day—might have been a Wednesday. Middle of the week. Or at least it felt like it. 

Then a younger man—a newcomer to Ward 15 who broke rocks alongside Izunia—ran to the lumberyard and announced breathlessly that there had been an accident.

He was looking right at Ardyn when he said it. 

“Accident? What…what’s happened?” Even as the words left his mouth, Ardyn’s heart told him the truth. Screamed it at him. There was no other sense in the lad coming all the way here to tell him—

Some rocks had fallen off a nearby cliff while the men were working. Unexpectedly. A few men had been stationed underneath and they could not get out of the way in time. 

“They were crushed!” the young man cried. “Totally flattened! I couldn’t—”

Ardyn rose to his feet, dropping his tools without a second thought. “Izunia.” 

His voice was calm, but his head was already gone. His heart was flying to wherever Izunia was—he needed to be with him! Where, where was he—

“He’s alive,” the man continued. “Two other guys died instantly, but Zoo…he’s alive. Jack Dawe and a bunch of blokes stuffed Zoo into a wheelbarrow and took him straight to the hospital. Should be on his way there now—”

Ardyn ran to the door. Fully taking leave of his senses. He could not desert a shift without permission—

“1013.” The guard on duty barked. “You deserting now?”

“Sir, I _must_ go to the hospital! My…my friend he’s…” Ardyn did not know how to describe it! Part of him was certain that if he needed to kill this man with his bare hands to get to Izunia he would do it!

But the guard nodded seriously. “928, I heard. Go. Pass on a good word for me, would you?”

By chance, this was a guard whom Izunia had bribed a fair number of times with good moonshine. A handful of the guards respected Izunia in that way, and this man was one of them. 

Ardyn nodded and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The hospital was on the north end of the colony. A good distance away. Every step of that journey sent cold, sheer terror pumping through Ardyn’s veins. 

Why had this happened? Why? What of God—of—

No. He couldn’t think right now. Ardyn shut all his thoughts down and focused solely on getting there. Just get there. Be at his side. Be with him…

He arrived at the hospital very near to a heart attack of his own. The doctors were ready to admit him, before Ardyn finally manage to huff out that he was there to see another prisoner. 

“928…” he breathed, hands on his knees. “Where…is he…please?” 

Putting the pieces together, the nurses directed Ardyn to the east ward. Where Izunia was being treated. Ardyn found the bed right away in a sea of beds—most of them empty, save for a handful who looked to be comatose or otherwise immobile. This was where they housed the severe cases. Ardyn knew that instantly. 

Jack Dawe, Hawkeye Jim, and Fakeman-Charley were standing around a bed. Faces serious. Curtains drawn. 

“Izunia!” Ardyn cried, running to his lover’s bedside.

He was not at all ready for the sight that greeted him. 

Izunia was half-conscious. His legs under the bedsheets were suspiciously flat, and arranged at awkward angles. Belying the injuries they’d sustained. Izunia’s chest was littered with bruises. His left hand looked broken beyond repair. And his eyes kept fluttering open and closed. He was obviously drugged, to ease the pain, thankfully. 

“Oh my god, no…” Ardyn sank to his knees, grabbing Izunia’s uninjured hand and pressing kisses to it with complete abandon. 

He no longer cared if the other men knew the truth about him and Izunia (probably they’d known for years already, since it was difficult to hide anything in the cramped space of the Barracks). He wished he could kiss every injured part on his lover’s broken body, to will away the pain and the shattered bones. He wanted ease Izunia’s suffering—that same steady permanent want he’d always harbored, to fix the things he loved. To _help_. To save…

But Izunia looked utterly ruined. His mangled form looked well beyond saving.

Tears spilled down Ardyn’s cheeks. He didn’t even notice them. His mind was racing as he tried to think of what to do. What to _do_! How could he save this man—the love of his life? 

To his surprise, Izunia squeezed him back. It seemed he still had control over his right hand. Ardyn was startled, looking into his lover’s face for some kind of answer. 

“They gave it to me straight, London,” Izunia wheezed. “I’m pretty cracked. Dicky to the nines, like.”

“No! You’ll be…you’re fine. You can still talk, you’ve got your faculties.” Ardyn nodded, trying to convince himself. “That’s worth quite a lot!”

Izunia shook his head, wincing. “No. The docs said the rocks smashed my back. The spine, they said. They don’t think I’ll ever walk again. And I…” He grunted in frustration and pain. “Can’t move. I can’t move anything, London, I’m…”

“That’s fine, that’s all fine.” Ardyn kissed Izunia’s hand, straightening the blankets around his chest. Tucking him in. As if that would protect him from the damage that had already been done. He was so happy to hear Izunia’s voice again, very worried that perhaps he never would.

But Izunia did not seem relieved.

He groaned. “Where’s Jack?”

“Here, Z.” Jack Dawe pressed himself to Izunia’s bedside. Ready for instructions. 

“We’re all here, boss,” Charley added. His glasses were off and he was wiping his eyes. Sobbing quietly. 

“You lot…” Izunia shook his head again, taking a deep, pained breath. “…you lot are loyal to the end, ain’t ya? Saved me, didn’t you?”

“We did, boss. We always will.” Jack was trying to stay strong, but his upper lip trembled when he said it. 

“Then I need you to save me again.” Izunia swallowed and tried his best to look in their direction. His neck did not seem to be cooperating. “I’m wrecked. Straight through. I seen this before, a bloke what fell down the stairs near where I grew up. Twisted his back, never walked again. Lived like cripple, wheeled around every which way…”

Izunia shook his head solemnly. “I…can’t.” 

“No, no no, it’s fine.” Ardyn refused to accept anything negative in this outcome. He would wait on Izunia hand and foot if he needed to! No doubt in his mind.

“I can’t bloody move, Ardyn!” Izunia snapped. He hardly ever used Ardyn’s real name. Especially in front of other people. It was like a slap to the face.

“Then I’ll carry you.” Ardyn peppered more kisses to his love’s good hand. “I’ll just carry you wherever you need to go. That’s fair, right? You carried me before, so now I’ll carry you.”

“No…” Izunia thrashed his head from side to side. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry, that’s…that ain’t no kind of life.” 

Ardyn knew exactly what Izunia meant. But he refused to accept it. He would never agree with this line of thinking—that his life was not worth living, how preposterous! Ardyn could not disagree more—as long as Izunia still had air in his lungs. 

“And I couldn’t do it to you, either, London,” Izunia said, trying to force his head in Ardyn’s direction. “You’re young. Only two years left on your sentence. You ain’t even done nothin’ that shoulda brought you here.” He squeezed Ardyn’s hand as hard as he could. “You should be _free_. Not carrying around some cripple. You don’t deserve none of this.” 

“Don’t say that, Izunia, my love, please…” Ardyn forced his whole face into Izunia’s hand. Relishing the familiar warmth of his palm.

Izunia looked vaguely towards Jack. “I need you to do it, Jack.” 

“Z…” Jack shook his head. Utterly overwhelmed. “I can’t. I can’t do that, man, don’t ask me…” 

“You have to!” Tears pooled around Izunia’s proud hazel eyes. It broke whatever spirit his men still had. “You’re the only one strong enough!” 

Jack cradled his head in his hands. His normally ham-fisted grip was shaking slightly.

“You have to, Jack,” Izunia demanded. “…please. Do it for me.” 

“No!” Ardyn rose to his feet. Ready to fight if he needed to—he did not like this train of thought in the slightest. “No one’s doing anything until we speak to the doctor on call…”

“Hold him back, Jim.” Izunia was still giving orders. “Charley, help him. Please.” 

Nodding immediately, Hawkeye Jim gripped Ardyn by the shoulders and pulled him away. He was surprisingly strong! When Charley threw his arm around Ardyn as well, he found himself utterly immobilized. Dragged kicking and screaming—literally—from his lover’s side. 

“Right. So. Go ahead, Jack. Do it.”

Jack wiped his teary eyes. He sniffed, trying desperately to stay strong. “…Alright. But I need you to know, Zoo, that I loved you like my own brother. And that’s _why_ I’ll do it. You get me?”

“I know, mate.” Izunia smiled with half of his face. “I love you too. You coves are the best blokes a sorry lag like me coulda asked for. All of you.” His eyes settled squarely on Ardyn for a long moment.

Jack slid into the bed behind Izunia. Wrapping the injured man in his arms like a lover. Then his forearms slid up to Izunia’s neck.

“No, please, don’t!!” Ardyn was shaking his head hard. Screaming loud enough to wake the dead. “Izunia, please!” 

Hawkeye whispered in his ear, “It’s what he wants. Can’t argue with the way a man chooses to die.”

Like hell he couldn’t! Ardyn wailed and shook his head, fighting their grip with everything he had. He couldn’t break free. 

This was happening.

“You’re a good bloke, Zoo,” Jim said softly, tightening his grip around Izunia’s throat. “A real good bloke.” 

Izunia took his last good breath. He fixed a smile on his face and tapped Jack’s arm, a signal for him to get on with it.

When it started for real, all other sounds fell away. They just stood there watching. Jack tightened his forearm as hard as he could. Strangling him. Izunia thrashed for a bit, naturally. No way around the instinct to cling to life when air became scarce. Jack squeezed him tighter and tighter until his breathing stopped. Then, in a final act of mercy, he snapped Izunia’s neck.

A clean break. Fast. No suffering. Izunia’s lifeless eyes stared vacantly towards the ceiling. 

Ardyn’s sobs echoed throughout the ward. 

Finally Jim and Charley let him go. His first instinct was to beat the shit out of Jack. He slapped the man’s brutish arms, screaming, “How could you?!” 

Jack was crying like a little child, hiding his face.

But then…Ardyn remembered Izunia. He pushed Jack out of the way and threw himself onto Izunia’s body. He kissed the face that he had spent so much time worshipping in the past. The lips, the nose, the eyes. He wanted to kiss the life back into his lover. It was all he could hope for at this point. A sudden miraculous recovery. Life rising out of death. The only hope left tethering Ardyn’s sanity to this world…

“Izunia…why…please, don’t…don’t leave me…I need you…” 

They stood around the dead body of their lost friend until the doctors arrived. They seemed to already know what happened—perhaps they had heard the screaming from outside. And even though their patient’s neck was clearly broken where it had not been before, the doctors accepted the convicts’ story that Izunia succumbed to his injuries in his sleep. They did not make a case out of it. (Perhaps it would have been too taxing to take care of an invalid on the government’s limited budget.)

Hawkeye tugged Ardyn’s shoulders. Forcing him to leave Izunia’s side so the doctors could prepare him for the mass grave.

“That’s not him anymore,” Hawkeye whispered. Half-carrying Ardyn. “He’s inside your head now. That’s where he lives. As long as you like.” 

Charley and Hawkeye managed to drag Ardyn back to the Barracks. They broke the news of Izunia’s fate to the rest of the ward. Several men cried out in grief. He was well-mourned, Izunia. Even the guards didn’t say anything when the convicts stayed up well past lights out telling fond stories about Izunia late into the night. 

Ardyn threw himself down on his hammock and cried. He cried until he ran out of tears. When his tears ran dry, his mind faded. The unbearable agony of the loss left his body riddled with despair. A pure, unadulterated kind of despair. Deep. Black. Choking. 

His eyes stared at the wall of the Barracks. Unseeing. His thoughts disappeared and his entire will to live evaporated into nothing. His love, his life, himself. They were all nothing. 

Ardyn decided he was done with his promise to himself. He no longer cared about surviving this whole ordeal. He didn’t care about his wretched life anymore. He didn’t want anything from the world—the world who would give him heaven, tear it up before his very eyes, and throw him right back into hell. 

All Ardyn wanted was to die.

————————-

The day after Izunia’s death, Ardyn refused to rise. He did not even attend the small ceremony the chaplain organized as a memorial. He did not answer when the men asked him questions. He just laid there. Staring. Longing pitifully for the caress of his love, knowing he would never have it again. Trapped in the depths of his own grief. 

They left Ardyn alone that day. It was the first day, after all. The chaplain argued that some of the men might need time to grieve. A day’s time should be enough. Although, no one had ever seen grief like Ardyn’s before. A total collapse. Catatonia, more like. A shut down of all speech and movement. 

The following day, though, Ardyn was expected to work. 

He did not rise for the morning bell. Anathema to the rest of the men in the ward, who scurried dutifully down to breakfast.

“Get up!” Hawkeye hissed at Ardyn. Shaking him with both hands. “Get up, man! The trappers are coming!”

But Ardyn did not move. Did not even react to Hawkeye’s urgency—and Hawkeye hardly ever spoke above a low rumble. For him to be agitated, the situation was quite dire.

“Bluey, get up. Let’s go. He wouldn’t want—”

“1013.” Too late. The guards arrived. They stomped over to Ardyn’s hammock, nudging his inert body with their clubs. “What happened. You didn’t hear the morning bell?” 

Ardyn said nothing. 

“Come on, up and at ‘em! Chaplain won’t get you out of a second day’s work, I’ll tell you that.” 

They waited for Ardyn to move. To no avail. Ardyn barely even blinked. 

A guard raised his clubs. He brought it down hard on Ardyn’s back. Ardyn didn’t even flinch. As if he couldn’t feel the blow. “Last warning, 1013. Punishment for refusing work is 50 lashes, you know that.”

Ardyn closed his eyes. He wished he had died alongside Izunia. Why couldn’t the rocks have crushed them both? Instead of just crushing his heart?

“Get. Up.”

“…No.” The air went out of the room as soon as Ardyn uttered the word.

“…What did you say, 1013?”

“No.” Ardyn said it a little louder this time.

The guards exchanged looks warily. They’d never seen a case like this before. Criminals refusing to work after a friend’s death. It went beyond grief and straight into insubordination!

One of the guards shook his head. “Alright, then! To the whipping post with you! On your feet.” 

“No.” 

Enraged, the guards dragged Ardyn to his feet and lugged him out of the barracks. It took two guards to lift him—he was just dead weight. But, true to their word, they took him right to town square and stripped his shirt. Wrapping his arms around the post, tying him tight.

The post smelled like blood. Even Ardyn, in his fugue state, could smell it. The blood of whatever men had come before him.

It took close to a half hour to muster up the scourger. Normally during this time, the other convicts jeered at the hapless bastard that wound up getting his ass whooped. Threw things at him. Hurled insults. But this time, everyone knew the situation. Instead of insults, the convicts shouted at Ardyn to rally!

“Come on, get up Bluey!” 

“Get out of there!” 

“Just work! What other choice do we have?”

“Christ’s sake, man, it’s McDonagh on scourging! You won’t last three blows—”

Ardyn closed his eyes. Good. Let this be where he fell. Before any more time passed between Izunia’s death and his lingering on in this world. Death at the whipping post. It seemed like as good of an end as any. 

“What we have here?” 

McDonagh arrived on the scene. He dragged his whip across the ground menacingly. Normally used to the convicts begging for his mercy. Pleading to go easy on them. 

Ardyn just sighed. Now came the pain, he supposed. The pain first and then the blackness. No matter how bad the pain was, Ardyn would just keep the blackness in his mind’s eye. His goal. The only path left for him now. 

The doctor called out that he was ready to start. “Alright now, McDonagh. Ten to start and then we assess. You agree this time, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you, doc.”

Ardyn’s naked back shone under the summer sun. McDonagh licked his chops. Eager to begin.

The first lash dragged a guttural scream from the depths of Ardyn’s soul. He thought he would stay silent through the whole thing, his soul already mostly dead. But no. That lash—it broke him. His body rebelled against everything in his head. He could feel blood dripping down his back already…

The second, then third strikes. Ardyn thought he might lose control of his bodily functions. The lash was turning him inside out. Relishing every speck of pain there was to be found in Ardyn’s battered flesh.

After ten, McDonagh stopped. “Whaddya say, Blue boy?” He tugged at the leather of the whip. Showing he was still raring to go. “You ready to work now?” 

Ardyn panted. He could not feel anything except excruciating pain, across his back and deep inside his heart. 

The world was rotten. There was no hope. The only relief was death.

“…No.” He managed to say it loud enough that everyone heard.

The other convicts shook their heads, giving up on poor old Bluey. They figured his story was over.

McDonagh glanced back at the doctor for permission. The doctor nodded.

He whipped him again. Ten more lashes. Then five. Again and again and again.

By the time he reached 30, Ardyn was beyond all feeling. He thought he could taste death—was that this feeling in the back of his throat? He’d probably already lost control of everything he had left inside him, he was already on his knees. Sliding down the post. The blood he could smell in the air was his own. 

“Alright now, take it easy, McDonagh…” 

More lashes.

“McDonagh, I said stop! Now, listen you…!” 

At last. Blackness took Ardyn. He relished it like the embrace of the angels.

————————

A few days later, Ardyn woke up in the hospital. Confused, believing himself to be in the afterlife at first.

“Izunia…” he rasped. If this was the afterlife, then where was his love? 

“He’s awake.” 

Ardyn opened his eyes and found Charley and Hawkeye around his bedside. They were alive…so then…this was not at all the afterlife. This was the hospital. The place he’d just been—the hell of life. 

No. Dear sweet… _anything_ , why? Why had he lived? Was he immune to death? Why wouldn’t death just take him already?! End this needless suffering! Grant him some mercy at long last! Here he was again, trapped in this stifling life.

Ardyn wanted to scream, but he did not have the strength. That whipping left him an inch away from death.

“McDonagh got 35 on you,” Charley explained. “You’re lucky to be alive, mate.”

“…Lucky?” 

Ardyn wanted to cry, but for some reason it came out as a life. A long, dry laugh. Hysterical and then heaving. Laughter that turned into bitter sobs towards the very end. 

Maybe his mind had already gone. 

So began Ardyn’s fourth and final challenge: Living on the colony without Izunia. The hardest one yet.

————————

_New South Wales  
_ _June 1839_

Ardyn detached himself from life in order to keep going. He abandoned all his own feelings. Tried to make himself numb. As the years went on, the only thing that helped him survive was the anger. 

Anger was good. It was like numbness in its own way. It did not hurt. 

With Izunia gone, the Ward Fifteeners disbanded for a little while. Then, bit by bit, Ardyn decided to supervise some of the old rigs his lost lover used to run. Bribing the guards to get out of Sunday service. Most of Izunia’s rackets were in place to give the people in his circle a better quality of life. Ardyn did not care much for that, but. There were young faces arriving every day! Part of Ardyn wanted to show the new chums a good time. Beer, good cheer, a game of cards at light’s out. If he gave them an extra helping of theatre tickets on Free Day, the boys were actually quite loyal to him.

And so, Ardyn became the new gang leader. His gang was different than Izunia’s. Bigger, more widespread. There was a time, somewhere around June of 1839, when nearly half the blokes in the Barracks owed Ardyn something.

He liked when the men owed him. He figured out ways to get them what they wanted, and then they more or less left him alone. 

He liked when the new chums looked to him for guidance. For protection, if they were being bothered. Even the old chums—Hawkeye, really, was the only one left from the original crew—respected Ardyn as their leader. He ruled from a place of obligation. No one could deny his skill at that kind of game.

It was easy. Once you stopped caring.

Eventually, Ardyn grew tired of the gang scene around the colony. He started looking for other ways to make the time pass. He fucked some of the new chums, even fucked some of the female convicts that would give him the time of day. Practiced his flirting. It was amusing, in its own way. 

He got tattoos: A black sun, the symbol for all truth. The light in his life. He labelled the compass coordinates with symbols from his life. In the north, was E.H.: Engheld House, his family home. The start of all the misery in his life. In the east, W.: Westmoreland, the ship that delivered him to this hellhole. A.I. in the south: Ardyn and Izunia, easy. Both their initials in the south, the place where they’d met. And in the west, N: No. The word that had changed Ardyn forever. Turned him from an obedient, servile creature into a man who cared for nothing. Not even his own life. 

Then he got the seven stars; the constellation of Taurus. The symbols of life, death, eternity, guidance, and protection. Such lofty ideals! But to be fair, Ardyn had grappled with quite a few of them during his time in New South Wales. From top to bottom. Until they were all one swirling, meaningless thing.

The weeping willow was next. Grief and eternal life. He got on a day when he was missing Izunia especially hard—the pain of the needle, slowly going in and out of his arm was nothing compared to what he carried around inside. 

Boredom once again became Ardyn’s worst enemy. That, and his own temper. As the years passed, Ardyn developed a wicked anger streak. All of his hate and rage boiled down to one black vein that ran deep within his heart. Ardyn could pull from that vein endlessly. It was a never-ending well of anger. 

But he had a hard time controlling it. He started getting into fights. Little skirmishes at first in the barroom on Free Day. Then…gradually more serious ones.

The worst fight he ever got into was over a game of dice in the recreation yard outside the Barracks. He was playing with some of the other men when suddenly he was suddenly accused of cheating. 

“You’re a sharper! A rook!” The other man proclaimed, pointing his dirty finger in Ardyn’s face.

It wasn’t true. And Ardyn calmly explained to him that he was mistaken. The anger inside of him snapping to life. Soupy and virile.

The man refused to let up. He called Ardyn all kinds of names. A dirty cheat. A liar. A coward who could not own up to his own lies.

Ardyn was not certain which comment actually broke his control. But he was remembering the trial—his brother’s coldhearted claims. The cruelty and nonsense that had landed him here in the first place. Ardyn was so, so, so very tried of being called something he was not.

He grabbed the man by the collar and punched him hard in the face. When that wasn’t enough, he smashed his face into the cobblestone. Over and over. Saying nothing. Completely out of control. A thrumming pulse in the side of his head that demand he hurt more and more. 

He was a beast. And he almost killed that man.

The superintendent sentenced him to three months in leg irons for that. “I don’t understand, 1013,” the pudgy man said. He’d stopped drinking lately. That only made him more of a prick. “I had such high hopes for you. Coming from a background like yours…”

“Hopes? For me?” Ardyn considered this for a moment. He wondered if it was true. On the whole, he doubted it. “Why, that’s quite kind of you to say.” 

“You need to stop with this skullduggery nonsense, man! This isn’t you!” The superintendent shook his head from side to side. Maybe he was on some kind of ‘higher power’ kick now. “I remember a bright eyed lad who arrived that day in July, all those years ago—”

“Oh, no,” Ardyn interrupted. Not willing to go through the whole speech. “That must mean you’re _disappointed_ in me, Superintendent?” 

He made a sad face, rattling the chains around his wrists. Mocking to the last. “Ah yes. Disappointment hurts, doesn’t it?”

The superintendent’s double chin quivered with rage for a long moment. His face turned red then purple, then back to red again. Almost pink. He’d never been spoken to like that by a convict before. Not even in Izunia’s day. 

“Five months in leg irons!” he bellowed. “And a year added to your sentence!”

Ardyn laughed a little. What the fuck did any of that matter? “You wound me, sir! Such a cruel fate! How will I ever survive…?” 

“Two years to your sentence!!” The superintendent rummaged through his desk to find the necessary paperwork. He was blind with rage. “And shut your yap before I send you to Norfolk! You can rot in solitary for all I care.” 

At that, Ardyn did fall into silence. He didn’t care what happened to him here, in New South Wales, because he practically owned this place. More years? So what? It wasn’t like Ardyn had any life to look forward to on the outside. But, sent down the river? That…was a mite too far. Ardyn could not amuse himself in solitary confinement—not the way he was used to, anyway. 

He was really too old to learn new tricks.

So, Ardyn served his full ten year sentence. In fact, he served twelve.

————————

_New South Wales  
_ _July 1844_

During the last year Ardyn spent in prison, he got his final tattoo. An anchor on his back. Anchors symbolized the sea, a sailor’s life or a long trip. Ardyn never thought he would leave Australia again. He had no love at all for the sea. So he got it as a snub to seafaring as a whole. He’d never go back from whence he came.

Finally, in July of 1844 he got is ticket of leave. He’d need to serve two years’ probation before being granted his Certificate of Freedom. The final piece that would mark him a free man for life.

When he departed New South Wales, he shacked up with Hawkeye for a bit. Hawkeye had been released in 1842, was recently granted his own Certificate. He welcomed Ardyn to his meager house several miles into the wilderness. A ranch home. Attached to a farm with no animals around back.

“Why don’t you keep animals?” Ardyn asked Hawkeye on his first night out of prison. There were in Hawkeye’s tiny kitchen, sitting around a rickety table.

Hawkeye—who’s name was actually Caligo, Ardyn learned when he searched his old friend out, Caligo Ulldor—shrugged. “Dunno. Guess I wouldn’t know what to do with ‘em.” 

Fair enough. 

It was funny; Ardyn always thought Caligo spoke with a Yorkshire accent. But now, hearing him for the first time in years, he rather thought Caligo had adopted a colonial accent. Like the Australian-born.

Ardyn wondered if the same was true for himself. He’d have to really listen to his speech to find out. 

For the time being, Ardyn and Caligo took odd jobs around the local town. They were a few miles outside of Victoria, a free Australian state. Ardyn rather liked the climate in Victoria. He could get along well with the people there. But he also liked returning to the wilds at the end of the day. Not having to live in the company of others for too long.

Because Ardyn was still learning how to keep his mask up. How to don the old persona of Ardyn Lucis, a gentleman’s gentleman. Instead of the prison gang leader. (So very far removed from the man who had loved with a whole heart.) So, he and Caligo passed the days like that. Trying to fit in amongst the public during the day, letting their guards down around each other at night. Talking flash. For comfort as well as secrecy.

They had to forage their own food sometimes. Ardyn became adept at killing vermin. Shooting down local birds to cook for dinner. He taught himself how to live off the land. Nature—its capricious will—was a comfort in and of itself sometimes. 

It took Ardyn a few years to feel like he could pass real time with normal people. A part of him would always long for the easy solitude of flash-company.

————————-

_Victoria  
_ _March 1855_

In 1846, Ardyn was issued his Certificate of Freedom. He was officially a free man from then on out. He could own property, could go wherever he wished. The first thing he did was buy his own house around the corner from Caligo. He had a good amount of his own money saved. 

There were a decent amount of blokes Ardyn knew from prison who lived in the area as well. It gave his new home a familiar feeling. Which he was grateful for.

As years passed, Ardyn’s intense bitterness faded a little. Working with his own hands and mingling with the merry public left him complacent for once. He thought a lot about dying. He wondered when his death would come—naturally, he suspected. Or else if perhaps he got himself into some shady business with the other boys—which he did, from time to time. Mostly to keep himself entertained.

For several years, Ardyn felt like he was just passing time. That’s what his life was: One long calendar. An apparatus where he could cross out days. No end in sight. Just a marathon of…living. 

Then a letter from London arrived in 1855. 

A curse. A pox! Ardyn was done with London! He wasn’t going back for anything! He left the letter on his kitchen table for days before opening it. 

It took hours of thinking, mind racing in circles, for him to finally work up the nerve to open the letter. He told himself he could always burn it if it made him feel anything he was not inclined to revisit—

Lo and behold, the letter announced the death of one Delvyn Lucis. Accidental misfiring of his weapon. Due to a lack of living family members, and Ardyn’s noncriminal status, the entire Lucis fortune logically passed to him. Along with Engheld House itself and everything in it.

Delvyn was dead? Ardyn considered whether he should grieve or not. His brother, and all.

….He decided on ‘not’ in the end. So Delvyn’s life had finally come to end after all these years. That was probably for the better, wasn’t it? The nasty fiend. (Rest in peace.)

But, Engheld…should Ardyn go back and claim what was his? 

No, no. Definitely not! You could not pay him to go back to London! Over twenty years since his transportation…Ardyn was an old man now! So much had happened…what on earth would he find in that wretched, godforsaken place…?

Caligo tried to convince him to go. Even thought the fortune was hardly a pittance now, he argued that owning property in London had to amount to something. And Ardyn could still pass for a gentleman! He did so nearly every day in Victoria! There had to be some kind of profit to be made in a place like Engheld…

“Hnh. The only profit to be made for me, dear friend, is if I marry wealthy.” Ardyn sipped his brandy and shook his head. “It’d have to be an up-in-the-stirrups girl.”

Caligo thought about that. Then he shook his head. “Yeah, no. You’re right. You could never pull that off.”

That…rankled a bit. “Well…who says I couldn’t?” Ardyn wondered aloud.

Caligo gave him an incredulous look. “Yournabs? Convince some poor besotted girl to marry you? Yeah, right. And I’m the Queen of England, ain’t I.”

Ardyn laughed. He was actually quite offended! 

Wooing some poor defenseless girl! It would be his easiest mark yet! Girls in London were so full of themselves. Head in the clouds, waiting for the proper gentleman to sweep them off their feet. All Ardyn had to do was play the part and he’d be set for life! 

Now, it was a bet.

They pooled together their money and bought a trip to London. Caligo said he needed to go, claimed one eighth of whatever profits Ardyn came into in London, and agreed to pass himself off as a manservant. A silent one, since he could not fake a London accent for the life of him.

Well, why not. Ardyn couldn’t argue with someone interesting to do.

It might even be fun, taking the piss out of London. That utter shithole.

________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames  
_ _24 March, 1857  
_ _Saturday - Afternoon_

All in all, Ardyn told Noctis about 25% of his story. He told him about the hard labor, the grueling conditions. He told him there was a man named Izunia whom he loved, and who had died prematurely because of an accident. He explained that he’d spent quite a few years rotting in prison with nothing but his own schemes to entertain himself. That he’d left his home in Victoria, Australia, to make good on a stupid bet with his friend. Chasing a fool’s idea of a fortune.

Just the bullet points. Very few of the details. Ardyn could not relive all of that now. (He relived enough of it on a day-to-day basis in tiny daydreams; things he could not control.) 

The rest Noctis knew. Their romance. The part of Ardyn’s life he never could have seen coming. 

“I found out, when I looked into the matter,” Ardyn explained, winding down from his long tale. “That Delvyn committed suicide. Apparently he’d been funneling money into Russia during the Crimean War.” He shook his head sadly. “That fucking idiot. By 1855, he knew he’d lose every penny he invested. And possibly be tried for treason to boot. And treason is a…lagging matter.”

Ardyn’s mouth twisted into a smile. ‘Lagging,’ Noctis had learned, was the convicts’ word for transportation. 

Oh. Irony was quite the bitch, wasn’t it? 

“Delvyn must have known he couldn’t survive that.” Ardyn sighed. “He never was as strong as he made out to be. And I’m sure he was rather frightened by the prospect of the karmic horrors that awaited him in Australia. So he put a shotgun in his mouth.” 

Ardyn shrugged. “C’est la vie.” 

“…Okay.” This was quite a lot of information for Noctis to process all at once. He felt overloaded—not sure what he should even say.

Twelve years of hard labor! Ardyn was…stronger than Noctis could have ever imagined! Ardyn had fallen in love (Noctis had so, so many questions about Izunia, but he knew Ardyn wouldn’t answer them now). Lost his love. Grappled with grief, come back from the brink of unthinkable despair…

Noctis trailed his hand down Ardyn’s cheek. He could see everything that had happened to his older lover by looking at the lines of his skin. All of _that_ had made him into _this_. 

Ardyn closed his eyes against Noctis’s touch. He leaned over and kissed Noctis’s fingers. 

The story was finished now. And Noctis was still here. Touching him. Absorbing all it. _Reading_ Ardyn. As if hungry to know even more. Cradling his face between his hands. 

Loving him. 

Ardyn cursed under his breath. Why. _Why?_ Why had fate (or God or the universe or what have you) given him Noctis? This pure-hearted, innocent creature that loved with an open heart. Stubborn as the day was long. Beautiful, so painfully gorgeous it took Ardyn’s breath away. Beautiful from the inside out. 

Why did Ardyn deserve another chance to love? He didn’t, surely. He’d never thought he would love again after Izunia. He’d given up on the very idea.

But then, here was Noctis. And Noctis was _impossible_ not to love. The way he wanted Ardyn. All of him, the good and the bad. The way he…reminded Ardyn of himself, in many ways. How Ardyn used to be. The best version of himself. Things he still admired even from a distance.

London messed with Ardyn’s head. Memories from twenty years ago jumped to the forefront of his mind at the most inopportune times, making him relive the darkest moments of his life since his arrest. Hearing stories about Delvyn. Facing Aldercapt again—that man who _still_ harbored a grudge even after twenty years! 

When memories rose within Ardyn’s mind like thick black paste, he could not escape them. Many times, he was rendered immobile by his own thoughts. Wishing to return to nothingness. Like he had the day Izunia died. A useless pile of regret and misery. 

At those times, the only thing Ardyn had was Noctis. Noctis, who held him through it. Fought hard to bring him back to reality. Who wanted Ardyn by his side even when he was useless.

Ardyn loved this boy. This boy who was actually a girl, at least in part. He loved Noctis, Viola. He loved them. 

He shouldn’t. Love was a dangerous thing. It left you open to more pain. But. He did. Helplessly.

Ardyn loved them.

“Is there…anything else you want to tell me?” Noctis asked, tracing the black sun on Ardyn’s chest. “Or can we just cuddle for a while?”

“You don’t want to leave?” Ardyn asked. Making sure.

“Nope. Not at all."

Noctis curled up next to Ardyn, wrapping him in a viselike hug. Leaving was the last thing on his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links about convict life on the Australian colonies:
> 
> [Everything you could want to know about life on the prison colonies](https://sydneylivingmuseums.com.au/convict-sydney/day-life-convict)
> 
> [Extra info on prison life](http://www.sl.nsw.gov.au/stories/convict-experience)
> 
> [The Westmoreland was an actual ship in 1832](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westmoreland_\(1832_ship\)) (fudged the sailing dates a little)
> 
> [The wiki page on convicts](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Convicts_in_Australia#New_South_Wales)
> 
> [Link explaining the tattoos convicts had](http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/real-life/news-life/marked-men-the-secret-codes-and-hidden-symbols-of-australian-convict-tattoos/news-story/0b140e2d75166c4d30cdc193f31523fe)
> 
> So, the slang they're using is called 'flash.' Convicts developed it as a means to escape the guards, talking in secret while still being watched. [Here's the complete dictionary](http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0600111.txt) it's on Project Gutenberg for free. Might add more links later for clarity!
> 
> If you're interested reading a time-relevant novel about convicts, there's always [The term of his natural life, by Marcus Clarke](https://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/review/marcus-clarkes-term-of-his-natural-life-convict-life-distilled/news-story/a17fb054d6f93eb8a2e537335527580c). I read a bit of it to help me get inspiration for this chapter. It's *super* dark guys. For people (like me *cough*) that are interested in all this gothic Australian shit.
> 
> This took me QUITE a while to write but I am REALLY happy with it. Hope you guys are too! Hope it didn't disappoint. 
> 
> Peace out, cub scouts ;)


	12. The garden party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They could share this. Like they shared everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! …Did we all survive that last chapter O_O? Everyone okay?
> 
> Yes? Good! Because here’s some more ^__^ <3 
> 
> Outfit notes:  
> Viola is wearing [this lavendar silk taffeta dress](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/402720391662029514/) with [ this fine, fancy hat](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/3e/93/63/3e9363e894da2a473bb83e2023bd61b1--vintage-woman-vintage-ladies.jpg).

**Chapter Twelve: The garden party**

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_24 March, 1857  
_ _Saturday - Evening_

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, laying like that. Not a true sleep. Just a short doze. Various images appeared in Noctis’s dreams. Hot, unforgiving sand. Dirt. Blood. A locked room that was more like a cage. 

Meanwhile, Ardyn dreamt of the past.

When they awoke several hours later, it was already late afternoon. They were shaken awake by their own thoughts. The dark truths that had just been shared. Ardyn lay in Noctis’s arms, shuddering every now and then. Noctis kissed the back of his head. His shoulders, his arms. Every inch of the man he could reach. 

They did not speak. There was nothing left to say. Minutes and seconds together stretched on, filling the blank pages of their story as much as any conversation could. Noctis was still there. He would not leave. Not even in the face of the most dire reality. Ardyn was still there. He was alive. 

They were alive. Together. Skin against skin. Breathing. Touching. When Ardyn shivered, Noctis held him. When Noctis seemed lost in thought—imagining perhaps too vividly the events Ardyn just described—Ardyn cupped his face. Cherished him with a kiss to the lips. 

This was not the past. Everything that had happened between them—from the time they met in Ravenscourt Park until now—still existed. It was a new chapter in Ardyn’s life, and Noctis’s as well. A new story for both of them.

Sadly, they did not know how it would end. The impending world outside Engheld beat against the windows, screeching for attention in each breeze, in every chirping bird and passing hansom cab. The sounds of London were a death knoll against the strange kind of peace they built together.

But this moment was not the end. They knew that much. Whatever lay in the future for their relationship (the very near future, admittedly), Ardyn and Noctis were together. Naked and raw. Unburdened by secrets. 

That was enough for now. 

Near suppertime, Ignis knocked on the bedroom door. “Masters,” he called crisply. “Might either of you like to rise for a light dinner? Miss Highwind has turned on the ovens.” 

Actually, they were hungry enough. “Sure, Iggy, be down in a minute,” Noctis answered. He combed his hand through Ardyn’s hair, gentling him as he spoke.

When Ignis’s footsteps retreated, they began the slow process of untangling and extricating themselves from the sheets. They both needed a bath, so they ran one together. They sat in the bathtub side by side, passing a washcloth and soap between them. Scrubbing each other softly. Cleansing the heart, washing away the darkness from the night before.

If they spoke or if they separated for even a moment, they were afraid the security they shared in each other would be shattered. So they moved as one. Drying each other off with the nearest towel (just one, since the others were outside in the cupboard). Taking turns with it. 

They moved into the bedroom again and began dressing one another. Noctis donned the spare men’s clothes he kept in Ardyn’s chifforobe. Holding hands, they helped each other into pants and trousers. Buttoned shirts. Buckled belts. There was a particular kind of intimacy in redressing. Preparing themselves again for the outside world. As if outfitting armor for a pair of knights. Piecing together the thin fabric that would serve as their respective shields, protecting their naked secrets from the harshness of everything that lay beyond that door. 

Fully clothed, they regarded each other again. Smiling. Noctis tossed his hair over his shoulder and smoothed his hands across Ardyn’s chest. 

He was happy. Hard to say why, exactly. There was nothing especially good about to happen. But, carrying Ardyn’s past inside him…Noctis would carry that story for the rest of his life. He would help Ardyn shoulder it. They would do it together. 

It was a relief. Knowing that they could share the burden like they shared everything else. 

“Ardyn…” Noctis said quietly, one hand on the doorknob. They were about to go downstairs. But he had something he needed to say. No more pretending it didn’t exist. 

He hadn’t exactly told Ardyn the real truth about his life as a lord’s son yet. Now was probably not the best time (kind of a non sequitur after everything else), but… This needed to be said. So, out with it already!

“You remember that woman you saw me riding with back in Hyde Park?” 

Ardyn’s face was flat. Unsmiling. The battered darkness he carried at the worst of times was still hovering nearby. Difficult to shake. “The blonde, skinny slip of a thing? Yes.” 

“Right. Her name is Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.” Noctis nodded. “My father wants me to marry her. He expects me to propose by the end of the Season.”

Ardyn nodded slowly. It wasn’t as though he had been oblivious to the idea. Most young lords were pressured to marry sooner rather than later. The prospect of Noctis’s father already having picked out a wife made natural sense. Ardyn was hardly surprised to hear it. 

But he wondered if Noctis had really considered his own future in the same way. 

“I see,” Ardyn answered. Tiredness pulled at the baggy skin around his eyes. “And will you?”

Noctis glanced to the side. “…No. I don’t think I will.” 

He had never wanted to propose to Luna, after all. And now, after a story like that? How could Noctis ever pretend to the rest of the world that there was anyone else in his heart? How could he bear a false wedding that made him sick to his stomach at the very idea? (Luna in white, flowers in her hair, radiant as the day was long. Happy. _Tricked_. Heading down the aisle towards a life that wasn’t real—) 

“Hmm.” Ardyn frowned. He said nothing else. 

Quiet, they emerged from the bedroom with matching solemn faces. The kitchen was silent. Caligo, Aranea, and Ignis were already sitting around the table. Spooning hot soup into bowls, slicing thick bread. The three of them looked up when their masters entered the kitchen. 

Caligo and Aranea shared a look. They turned back to their tasks, as if they had been expecting this. Noctis and Ardyn looked exactly like what they had just been doing—sharing the worst parts of themselves. It was evident in their hunched shoulders. Their long faces.

“Noct…” 

Ignis pushed up his glasses nervously. He seemed taken aback by his master’s appearance, unable to hide it. Of course, hiding his true feelings was a large part of a valet’s job. He was not in the business of telling Noctis he looked like shit. So, considering that, Ignis cleared his throat and finished with, “I’m…glad to see you bathed, sir.”

The sight of Ignis almost moved Noctis to tears. He was still far too emotional (having stayed up all night, exhausted and overwhelmed). But Ignis was just standing there like always. His brother to the end—and nothing like the kind of brother Delvyn had been. Ignis was _real_ family (not in the Biblical sense, perhaps, but in every way that mattered). Ignis was true. Loyal. He’d never let Noctis rot in prison…he’d fight to his last breath to save him from such a fate. If there was anything in Noctis’s life that kept him soft, unused to the harshness of the world, it was Ignis. Noctis really didn’t appreciate him nearly enough. No way he ever could. But he was so incredibly glad Ignis had accepted everything in Noctis’s life up until this point.

Before he could stop himself, Noctis ran up to Ignis and hugged him. He just needed to feel safe for a second. Wrapped in the familiar arms of his best friend. 

“What…what’s happened?” Ignis murmured, tucking Noctis in his arms without hesitation. 

Noctis shook his head. Of course he planned on telling Ignis everything—in detail, just as it had been told to him, because there was no way in hell Noctis could keep a secret that big from Ignis. Just not yet. In a few days, maybe. When Noctis could safely talk about it again without getting too lost in the retelling. 

So he shook his head, sniffing hard. He pulled away from Ignis and forced a smile. “What’s for dinner?” he asked. 

“Bread and soup,” Aranea answered, passing a bowl to Noctis. “Eat hearty. You’ve been dancing all night, miss. You need to refuel your strength.” 

Noctis took the bowl gratefully. Of course, it was highly improper for gentlemen to share a table with their servants…but that was nothing, now. They’d done it many times before. The five of them. Not even Ignis bristled anymore when he tucked into a meal alongside his betters. 

Caligo pressed a hand to Ardyn’s shoulder. Wordless but steadying, silently noting the fact that he’d carried Ardyn’s useless ass up the stairs the night before. Ardyn recognized exactly what his friend had done for him (again, not the first time). He nodded gruffly and patted Caligo’s hand firmly in thanks.

It felt more like sharing a table with family. This was their family. 

They were home.

Conversation was sparse throughout the dinner. Noctis and Aranea chatted about the ball, little details about what the other women were wearing. Who danced with whom, the familiar faces. Such conversation was best suited for a lady’s bedchambers rather than the dinner table. Mixed company would not care about the cut of the Baroness’s bodice; it was rude to even indulge. 

But were they even keeping track of all the improprieties anymore? Aranea referred to Noctis as ‘Miss Gainsborough’ these days no matter what he was wearing. She never called him anything else. As if Viola’s womanhood were an immovable fixture regardless of what gender Noctis presented as. 

How could Noctis ever explain how much he loved Aranea for that? For treating him as what he felt like on the inside? For seeing his truth through thick and through thin? 

Viola reached across the table and squeezed her lady’s maid’s hand. Unthinkably vulgar for the dinner table! Once again! But they shared a meaningful look, happy to be in each other’s company on that fine Saturday evening. 

In short, no. They were not keeping track of all their indiscretions. Hardly seemed to matter. And there was something so liberating in that. They could acknowledge openly what they were for each other. Even this was a curtain finally coming down. Accepting the truth: They were family. Not thrown together by circumstance, but together by choice. 

A place to abide comfortably. Like real people. 

By the end of the dinner, they were all in much better spirits. The tension had broken. Things felt more…normal, again.

They were back.

————————-

“We’d best return home for the night, sir.” Ignis hated having to be the one to remind them all of the real world. “Your father will be expecting us.”

True enough. 

Before Noctis and Ignis left for the Citadel, Noctis cornered Ardyn alone in the sitting room. He forced Ardyn into the high backed velour chair and promptly sat in his lap. Straddling his legs on either side. It was actually a very normal position for both of them. They pressed their foreheads together and relaxed in each other’s company. A facsimile of paradise for two souls.

“I’ll be back on Thursday,” Noctis whispered, trailing his lips along Ardyn’s forehead. “Molly Renquist invited Viola to the garden party, remember?” 

“Oh, that’s right.” Ardyn sucked his teeth. “The garden party. I had quite forgotten.” 

“Do you think you want to come with me, or…?” Noctis trailed off.

Garden parties were largely a thing for women of all ages, and rather young men who were trying their hands at courting. Men of Ardyn’s age were scarce at such things. They did not accompany their wives, instead deigning to let the women play. (‘Play’ meaning chatter on about this and that. The color of their gowns. The gossip of the month. …Needlework, maybe? Conversation no Englishman could withstand, certainly.)

Ardyn was quiet for a moment. Actually he liked garden parties, but…Iedolas’s resurfacing had truly shaken him. He was going to need to rethink his excursions to and from Engheld. Best do it only when he was certain not to run into the man. Maybe he should send Caligo out and see if Iedolas was running some kind of perimeter on him….

No, no. That was far too paranoid. Iedolas must have been in his eighties. A dotard. No way he was working some kind of scheme to chase Ardyn back into ruin.

Ardyn ran a hand over his face. He couldn’t think straight right now. There were too many old fears and worn out feelings, dredged up from decades ago, battling inside him. He needed time to sit in his chair and think for a while. Or else, do his best not to think about anything at all. (Now who was the old man?)

“I’ll…consider it, Noct.” 

Noctis pressed a kiss to his lover’s lips. He wished he could stay. He wanted to chase away all the demons in Ardyn’s head. It would be an incredible feat, but Noctis wanted to try. Even if it took days, weeks, months…

…but alas, they did not have that kind of time. Their relationship was stolen evenings and excursions they took under masquerade. Not the day by day journey it would take to create a real life together…

Noctis knew that Ardyn was still very much not alright. He kissed him several more times. Overcompensating for the time they would spend apart.

“Noct…” Ardyn broke away from the kisses. His face was troubled. “Listen to me for a moment, will you?”

“What is it?” 

“I think…” The older man buried his fingers in Noctis’s silken black hair. Massaging the scalp underneath. It was something he used to do for Izunia, because Izunia always liked it. He would purr underneath Ardyn’s fingers, curling up to him in the most amenable way…

But this was Noctis. Ardyn frowned, waiting to see Noctis’s reaction. He watched his boy break into a kittenish grin and lean into Ardyn’s touch. Highly amenable indeed. 

Two of a kind then. Uncanny. 

Ardyn shook his head, heart aching with love for Noctis. “I think you should reconsider your father’s offer. The marriage proposal.” 

Noctis stiffened, eyes flying open. He pushed Ardyn’s hands away and gave him an ice cold stare. Hurt, confused. Trying to read the weary expression on his lover’s face.

“Not because I want anyone else to have you, darling,” Ardyn continued. Yes, he appreciated that Noctis was so indignant at the very idea. That he considered their secret relationship much more important than any woman, no matter how beautiful. Ardyn liked that a lot. 

But. He needed Noctis to make the choice that was right for him. Noctis was young. Staring down a fortune that rivaled the queen’s. He needed to think things through. Very clearly. Ardyn’s (pitiable, as ever) fate aside. 

“You stand to inherit a kingdom, Noct,” Ardyn explained. “That’s nothing to sneeze at. Nothing to pass up so flippantly.” 

He imagined Noctis as the Lord of the Caelum Estate. In a powdered wig in the House of Lords. Back straight and regal on horseback. Stunningly beautiful wife at his side. A gaggle of brats following him around, wishing to be just as capable as their father.

That was the future as it was meant to be. It brought a wistful smile to Ardyn’s lips. Noctis would look so grand as a lord. Exquisite. _Perfect_. 

Ardyn had no business anywhere near that world. His reality was in the shadows and the filth. Hoarding pennies, whatever he could steal. Waltzing under cover of darkness. Haunted by the images in his own mind.

“You need to keep yourself in a position where you can be comfortable, my love,” Ardyn explained. “If you need to marry the girl, what price is that? Luxury and security. People would kill to have those, Noct. For you, the dream is within reach. You should think it over. _Carefully_.”

He was being completely serious. Staring right back into Noctis’s hostile eyes.

“But….what about you?” Noctis asked. Voice a hoarse whisper. 

“…what _about_ me, darling?” Ardyn answered. “You know I’ll love you always. And I will rest quite easy at night knowing you are ensconced in the lap of luxury.” 

“…Would you?” 

Ardyn paused. He knew what Noctis meant. Did it mean they were over? Ardyn would have given up Noctis to save him—the boy was too precious to subject to the kind of life Ardyn had known—but he had a feeling that’s not what Noctis wanted. If Noctis desired an end to their relationship, he would have done so already. And they’d worked through that enough times by now.

So Ardyn could play along. A web of lies, if that’s what his love wanted. The thought didn’t bother him. (And some women were open to their husbands’ affairs; it was not an unheard of thing. Ardyn had never met Luna but he imagined she was a difficult girl to fool. Her eyes understood too much.) 

“London is not so big a place,” Ardyn said softly. “We could still see each other from time to time.” His lips curled into a vulgar smirk. “When you’re tired of being a lord and want a man like me to come fuck you—”

Noctis groaned and wrapped his arms around Ardyn’s head. Effectively silencing him. He could not bear to hear another word of that future!

Had he considered it? Marrying Luna while carrying on with Ardyn? …Yes. Noctis had thought about it. Living a life that was a facade for the rest of the world. Passing along the family name, doing what everyone expected of him, but keeping the best part of life for himself. Treasuring Ardyn in secret. Away from the eyes of the world. Walking a dangerous line of treachery. 

Could he ever tell Luna the truth? Maybe he could, actually. The stronger Noctis felt about Ardyn—the more real their relationship became—the less Noctis felt like revealing the truth would destroy him. Sometimes he thought about telling Luna what he really did just because. Because it was his truth. And as one of his oldest friends, she deserved to know. She might be utterly shocked at first, but…Luna was Luna. She did not shy away from what she knew was right.

Would she find Noctis’s love for Ardyn to be right? Morally, and in the context of their marriage? These Noctis was…less clear about. He had doubts, honestly. Luna hated half-truths and false narratives. She said what she felt, even if she had to go about it delicately for the sake of propriety. 

He did not think Luna would enjoy that kind of life. And he…did not think it was fair to ask it of her. To expect Luna to compromise a good, happy marriage for the sake of Noctis’s unruly heart? His perversions? The uncomfortable, terrifying knowledge that Noctis was departing further and further from his prescribed gender. He did not feel like a man most days. He felt like…something else. A woman, sometimes. Or something in between. A cat’s tail flicking back and forth capriciously. Unconcerned by what it should be or what it must be, subject only to the will of what it _was_.

How could he ask Luna to understand that? How could he ask _anyone_ to understand, least of all his supposed wife?! 

…But then, on the other hand, where did that leave him? What other path was there for him and Ardyn? There was no reality that could sustain the kind of life they wanted. …Was there?

Noctis could not handle all these thoughts right now. So, he buried Ardyn’s face in his chest and cradled his lover’s head. Fighting back the impending truth: _Their reality was not sustainable._

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Noctis moaned. “So let’s not, okay? Let’s just…think about Thursday. You remember the dress I bought for the party?”

Ardyn hummed, his face pressed against Noctis’s front. Immobilized. He did in fact remember. The teasing little buttons down the front, especially. 

“So…just think of that.” Noctis freed Ardyn at last. “Thursday, okay? Nothing else. Umm, for now.” 

Ardyn saw clearly the way his love was shying away from reality. Fighting it. Hiding from it. 

There was a certain kind of release that came from pushing away the truth until you simply could not anymore. Ardyn understood that! Hell, he was not one to argue about what was true or not true! He lived his life trying to outrun his worst memories, making peace only with what he needed. 

He did wish Noctis was more practical, though. More ready to accept the world that would inevitably come down on them both. The boy could not very well prepare himself. So Ardyn would just have to ride it out with him. Whatever happened.

He would. Ardyn squeezed Noctis’s hands and kissed them one at a time. 

The rest of the story was up to Noctis, Ardyn realized. Noctis needed to decide what he could live with. Ardyn could help him only to a certain extent. When push came to shove, Noctis needed to make the final call on the kind of life he wanted.

This boy that loved Ardyn no matter what truth he slung at him (murder charges and years of hard prison time). An unlooked for gift. It moved Ardyn to a point that he did not know what to do with himself. He was in awe of Noctis. The sincerity in him. The goodness. How could he ever hope to reason with a creature like this?

There was nothing else to be done. Not with someone as uniquely strong-willed as Noctis Caelum.

_________________________________________

_Chiswick_  
_24 March, 1857  
_ _Saturday - Late Night_

Regis was not thrilled with Noctis when he and Ignis returned from the ball a full day after they were expected home. He seemed to be in a rather dark mood, sipping tea at the dinner table. It would be unheard of for a man to do such a thing in front of company (the dinner table was for brandy, not tea!). But at the Citadel it was just him and Noctis.

Taking one look at Regis—who was in fact a teetotaler—Noctis knew he needed to avoid conversation with his father at all costs.

No such luck.

“Noct. Come sit with me.” 

Unable to creep past the threshold of the dining room without alerting his father to his presence, Noctis sighed. He trudged up to the table like a man going to his death. 

Regis glanced at him—cursory, just checking to make sure Noctis was still alive—and then immediately looked away. Staring deeply into his teacup. 

“Hey, Dad,” Noctis offered weakly, sitting at the mostly cleared table. 

Servants flitted about, unsure what to do with themselves in the wake of such a tumultuous evening. Lord Regis, just _sitting_ there! Subjecting the entire manor to his bloodless gaze! Honestly, Noctis felt bad for them. Being around Regis when he was in a mood like this gave one the feeling of sitting next to an oncoming blizzard. Harsh winds and a killing cold. Frozen bearings.

“Good evening, son,” Regis answered. He took another sip of tea. 

Several minutes passed before he continued. “I suppose you’ll leave me to guess where it is you’ve been for the past twenty-four hours. Good show.” 

Realizing just how pissed his father was, Noctis flexed his hands nervously. He wished that after everything—hearing the whole of Ardyn’s story—he did not have to be so afraid of his father. But, the truth remained. Regis controlled every bit of his son’s destiny. 

“I was at the ball. The Eckhart’s. You know that.” Noctis looked at the leftovers of an extravagant meal still on the table. Pork and ham with side dishes. The sight turned his stomach. 

He wouldn’t have traded the soup and bread he’d eaten at Engheld, in the company of servants and ex-convicts, for anything. 

“The ball ended at 6:00 this morning, Noctis,” Regis informed him. “At which time I expected you home.” He checked the clock in the hallway. “It is now 9:00 in the evening.” 

For now, Noctis said nothing. He wasn’t going to come up with some lie anymore. The lies he told always fell apart under scrutiny.

“I took the liberty,” Regis began, setting his cup down on its saucer with harsh finality. “Of sending Mr. Ulric over to Mr. Argentum’s household to fetch you, thinking naturally that’s where you would be.”

Noctis braced for the next reveal.

“Mr. Ulric returned promptly and said he found Mr. Argentum, Miss Aurum, and Lady Lunafreya at the Argentum household. But he did not find you.” 

…That was interesting information. Noctis tilted his head to the side as he tried to piece together what on earth his best friend had been doing last night. …Something wonderful, he hoped!

Maybe congratulations for Prompto were in order. Noctis filed away the thoughts for another time. Because Regis was still bearing down on him with no hope of letting up.

“Tell me. Where were you.” Regis let his hand fall to the table, loud and undignified. A glimpse of real anger. 

Noctis focused on the pattern in the dining room carpet. Floral. Old. Noctis could remember this carpet from as far back as his childhood. He wondered if the furnishings in Engheld were the same. Things Ardyn could remember growing up. How did Ardyn reconcile that with everything he’d been through in his life? Was it like trampling across history, or revisiting places in his mind that he ought never see again? 

“Speechless, I see.” Bitter, Regis picked up his teacup and held it one hand. “Not even trying to come up with an excuse.” 

“…What do you want me to say, Dad?” Noctis closed his eyes. He was entirely too worn out for this conversation. 

“How about the truth?” Regis’s voice turned cold and slow.

The truth was a ridiculous prospect. Noctis almost laughed out loud. There was no version of the truth Regis actually wanted to hear!

“…I was out.” That’s all Noctis would admit to. He stood up and made to excuse himself.

As he passed Regis on his way out of the dining room, Regis grabbed his son’s wrist. It was the first time in many, many years Noctis could remember Regis touching him. He hadn’t felt his father’s hands in probably close to a decade. Maybe longer. They ate together every day. Worlds apart. Noctis had forgotten, on some level, that Regis had flesh and blood like everyone else.

His father’s hands were cold and papery. Worn thin by age. But strong. Willful. As Regis Caelum always was (a trait they shared, if they could cease their cold war long enough to see it). 

They stared at each other for a tense, distorted moment. Noctis thought Regis might shout at him. Or hit him. The look in his father’s eyes was pure rage. He’d seen Regis like this on a couple of occasions—all directed at Noctis. He expected to be warned of a military future once again. Yeah, yeah, yeah—

Then Regis let him go. Abruptly. Flicking his hand out to the side as if he had touched something foul. Dismissing his son without any kind of passion. Just abject boredom and disappointment. Mild disgust.

“When you have your story straight, come talk to me,” Regis ordered. He went back to his tea. 

Noctis slunk out of the room. He was shaking his head, but in his heart there was a tiny fissure. A crack. The place where Regis had been but was now fighting to destroy. The love Noctis had for his father. Fraught with dissonance. 

If Regis was disgusted with him now, just for lying, imagine if he found out what Noctis really got up to. He might vomit where he sat just from the sight of his own son!

The crack in Noctis’s heart solidified that night. He acknowledged it for the first time. And still, he had no idea what to do about it.

Pushing it aside, Noctis returned to his bedroom. Relieved to find Ignis, yet again. There to help Noctis into his bedclothes for the night. Fuck it. Noctis wanted to tell Ignis everything he’d learned about Ardyn right then and there! Ignis was probably dying to know, and Noctis needed to speak the truth to at least one member of his family tonight (even if his family consisted only of his valet). 

So he did.

_____________________________

_Earl’s Court_  
_The Argentum Household_  
_28 March, 1857  
_ _Wednesday - Afternoon_

Noctis counted the days until he could attend the garden party like a civilized woman. Each one was a slow, torturous affair. Doubly so since Regis was not speaking to him. Again.

At least Noctis could still come and go as he pleased. He made his way over to Prompto’s house one afternoon, thirsty for details. Unfortunately—for once!—Prompto was sealed up tight like a fortress. Refusing to give any details about what had happened the night of the ball. 

“Ah, come on, man,” Prompto said, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. They were in his family’s sitting room. Alone (Prompto’s family did not employ full-time servants).“You can’t expect me to just like _tell_ you this stuff…I don’t even know if the girls want me to say, so…let’s just drop it, okay?”

“The girls?” Noctis’s head was about to explode. “So…you mean like…?” He wanted to push and push until he couldn’t anymore and Prompto finally caved in like the crust of a soggy pie—

It always worked before! And never had Prompto been in possession of such scandalous information! Him, Cindy… _and_ Luna?

Noctis really needed to know! 

Prompto flashed him a smile, then turned bright red and looked away. “Yeah.”

That ‘yeah’ spoke volumes! The three of them had begun…what, some kind of clandestine relationship? Something the powers that be—indeed God Himself—would surely frown upon! Nothing illegal, of course, nothing like buggery and sodomy…unless Cindy was getting a little adventurous with the _consolateur_ —Noctis couldn’t even think that without bursting at the seams.

He grabbed Prompto’s shoulders and shook him. Hard. As much congratulations as a statement of complete disbelief and joy. 

“But no more questions, okay?” Prompto begged. He punched Noctis on the shoulder. As hard as he used to! For the first time since October, since Noctis began dressing as a woman and generally messing with his friend’s head. 

“Oh, sorry…” Prompto began immediately. Recognizing what he’d done and regretting it. Were they ready for a wholehearted friend-punch again, or…? 

Noctis laughed in his face. “Not at all!” He punched Prompto right back. Just as hard. 

For a moment, everything was as it used to be. Noctis wanted to scoop Prompto up in a hug and tell him he was so proud. But that probably would have been too far. 

So instead he said, “Nah, I’m just really excited for you. You deserve to be happy, man. So I hope you are.” 

Prompto’s face softened instantly. To be fair, he looked worlds better than he had the night of the ball. The anxiety that hung around his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes, were entirely gone. Replaced by a distinct sparkle and a smile.

It must have been a hell of a night. 

“Thanks. I…hope you are, too.” Prompto blushed up to his ears, hemming and hawing before he said the next bit. “Because like umm…you looked really great at the ball, dude. Like…really good? Prettier than a lot of the girls there, so…”

He coughed and then cleared his throat loudly. “That guy is lucky to have you.” 

‘That guy’ meaning Ardyn. They’d never met, but Prompto knew of course that Noctis was still seeing him.

And this time, Noctis did reach over and wrap Prompto in a very ungainly hug. Prompto hugged him right back, surprisingly. It seemed they’d both been waiting for this moment. Just for the chance to be honest with each other again. 

“Alright, alright…” Prompto said eventually, wiggling out of Noctis’s grasp. His fragile masculinity could take no more. 

That conversation left Noctis with quite a bit to think about! Luna was…well it seemed like Luna was in something of a relationship herself! With two other people (one of them Prompto for God’s sake)! Why would Luna even consent to marrying Noctis when she had the love of two separate people, and Prompto at least had been in love with Luna since they were grade school kids. Noctis remembered how Prompto poured over every letter from Luna with more intensity than even Noctis himself did. Sometimes Prompto would even sniff the parchment and declare that he was certain Luna used elderflower in her perfume. Noctis thought it was super weird at the time but now? Well…he sort of got it now. (Being with Ardyn had taught Noctis a thing or two about the strange impulses you had in a fit of desire.) And Luna was the most beautiful girl on the continent without any question. Noctis was unbelievably proud that his best friend had managed to—what? He didn’t even know for sure what they’d done together. 

At any rate, it was something _awesome_! 

Luna did not need to marry, did she? 

Unless…the whole affair she had (with another woman, and with a man quite below her own station), was to be kept secret. Undoubtedly so, of course. In that case, then…maybe Luna wouldn’t mind so much if Noctis carried on with Ardyn as long as she could carry on with Prompto and Cindy. 

Is that the kind of life they wanted? Could they share that world together, stretching the limits of marital piety? Did Luna even want that? Did she _want_ to carry on with the pair of them (hot mess that they were)?

Noctis needed to talk to Luna. That’s all there was to it. He needed to sit down and have a serious, private, _adult_ conversation about their marriage prospects. And everything else. Who Noctis was on the inside. How he lived. What Luna desired from any of this…

They needed to talk.

…Unfortunately, the following day was the garden party. And Noctis had been looking forward to seeing Ardyn again all week! Plus, he was not about to turn down an opportunity to wear that new silk taffeta day dress he and Aranea picked out. 

So his talk with Luna would have to wait. Noctis would write her a letter and asked to meet sometime the following week. After the first of April.  


Postponing their conversation one more week couldn’t hurt.

______________________________________

  
_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_29 March, 1857  
_ _Thursday - Morning_

Noctis pointedly did not have any kind of conversation with Nyx in the carriage ride over to Engheld. He felt betrayed—perhaps unreasonably so—that Nyx would tell the truth to Regis about the fact that he hadn’t seen Noctis at the Argetnum household. Hadn’t Noctis literally paid him to lie that night?

…Although yes, technically, Nyx was paid to lie only for the night of the ball. Not for the day afterwards. Supposing, in the worst case scenario, that something horrible had happened to Noctis and Nyx lied about where he saw Noctis last. It would all come down quite horribly on Nyx in that case, wouldn’t it?

Intellectually, Noctis understood that. But it didn’t stop him from acting like Nyx had hurt him on purpose. He’d thought he could trust Nyx….but Nyx, it seemed, would always be loyal to Regis first.

Maybe Noctis should stop using the family carriage to go Engheld. Even though Nyx dropped Noctis off several blocks away still, there was a chance Nyx reported to Regis that Noctis traveled often to Kingston Upon Thames. Not something he should really be so comfortable sharing.

So, noted. He glanced at Nyx from over his shoulder when he got out of the carriage, but Nyx wasn’t looking at him. Noctis couldn’t be sure what that meant either. Was Nyx tired of lying for the young master? Did he feel some type of guilt about all this?

Noctis chose not to delve any deeper. He walked down the street and made his way to Engheld.

When he arrived, it was the first time ever that Ardyn did not greet him at the door. Instead, Caligo let him in and closed the door soundly, peeking around the corner with razor sharp eyes. 

It wasn’t hard for Noctis to see what had earned Caligo that nickname in prison. He regarded the older man wordlessly for a moment. Trying to put together the pieces of everything Caligo himself must have been through over the years. Transportation and imprisonment. Life in the bush, living off his own two hands. Now here, in London. Again or for the first time? Did he harbor any kind of resentment for the city the way Ardyn did?

Noctis wondered suddenly what Caligo got out of this life. What did he enjoy? Was he happy here? Where did the kind of loyalty he showed Ardyn—the kind that he showed all the men in his prison gang—come from? 

Catching Noctis staring, Caligo nodded at the younger man crisply. His usual fare. 

Noctis glanced around the foyer. Ardyn was nowhere to be found. 

“So, umm…” He felt weird asking Caligo something directly. He never had before. But now Noctis knew Caligo could speak, well…he actually wanted to talk to the man. Learn about him. “…is everything okay?”

Caligo paused. Frowned.

This was kind of awkward.

“I mean…is _he_ okay? Ardyn.” Why was it so hard to talk to Caligo now?! They shared a mutual respect (love?) for Ardyn, and Noctis appreciated Caligo a great deal. Shouldn’t that make this easier?

But actually…no. Now Noctis cared what Caligo thought of him. He wanted Caligo to appreciate him too, to understand the place he had in Ardyn’s life. Since he’d known Izunia. Or…something. It was strange, but Noctis wanted Caligo to see him as someone who deserved to be with Ardyn. 

Seeing what Noctis was driving at, Caligo gestured with his chin towards the upper level of the house. 

“He’s upstairs,” Caligo said. “The bedroom.”

His voice was hoarse and gruff, much like Noctis expected. And yes indeed, he spoke with the same accent Noctis had heard from Ardyn on a few occasions. That twang and lilt. Was this the colonial accent? A brand new thing? 

Noctis nodded. Pretending not to be mystified at the sound of this man’s voice. “…Okay. How long has he been there?” It was a worthwhile question. How long had Ardyn been in one of his inclement periods?

Caligo nodded, knowing what the younger man meant. He walked to the stairs and gestured for Noctis to follow him. “ ’Bout two days,”he said. 

Two days?! That felt like a long ass time to be locked in your bedroom! (And Noctis should know; he’d indulged in sleeping that long before.) He wished instantly that he had known sooner—he would have come right away if he knew Ardyn was down for the past two days! Although, how would they have gotten in contact with him? Even sending a letter was suspect…why would Noctis Caelum be getting letters from the Lucis house out of the blue? 

It would have been impossible. 

“Fuck,” Noctis cursed under his breath. He hated the fact that being separated from Ardyn meant he was completely in the dark about the other man’s welfare. What if Ardyn was in serious danger (with that Iedolas guy running around)? What then? 

Noctis knocked firmly on Ardyn’s closed bedroom door. “Ardyn, it’s me.” He waited but there was no response. 

Caligo stood by the landing, unsure where to step. Just watching. Noctis nodded at him, trying to wordlessly explain that he was thankful for Caligo’s watchful eye. At least there was someone looking out for Ardyn when Noctis wasn’t there.

“I’m coming in.” Fighting a sense of foreboding, Noctis pushed open the door without waiting for permission.

The curtains were drawn. It was dark inside the room, eerily so considering it was quite a lovely day outside. An unnatural sense of night. Ardyn was laying in a tangle of sheets and blankets, just a mound of red hair poking from the comforter.

Noctis’s heart crumbled at the sight. He hated seeing Ardyn like this! ‘Useless,’ as the man himself had put it. Worn out by memories and old fears. There was a sense of defeat in the air when Ardyn was like this. It made Noctis sick to his stomach. The man he loved—the one in his mind’s eye—never admitted defeat. He was strong and well-travelled, annealed to any kind of degradation the world might throw at him.

Which Ardyn was, most of the time. But Noctis knew there would always be these down periods too. The times when Ardyn really felt his age and his experience and it was all too much. The times when he went back to that place of emptiness. The despair. 

“Ardyn…” Noctis went right to his side. He dove onto the bed and started digging through the sheets. Trying to find Ardyn. Unbury him.

“Mmmm…” It looked like Ardyn had been legitimately sleeping. Over-sleeping. Trying to escape. He rumbled groggily when Noctis pulled the blankets away. 

He blinked, bleary-eyed, and smiled vaguely at Noctis when he recognized him. “Oh. Hello, my dear.” 

Noctis took off his shoes and snuggled up next to Ardyn. Fully clothed (he’d taken his top hat off downstairs, thankfully, but his overcoat was still on). He kissed Ardyn’s cheeks several times. Trying to resuscitate his love carefully. 

“Mmm, that’s a lovely wake-up call…” Ardyn hummed. His eyes were bleak. Puffy and grey. Far too tired. The smile on his face looked real, but just barely there. Fragile. 

Noctis pressed their foreheads together. Ardyn smelled like sweat and sloth. Horrid breath and unwashed skin. Evidence that he had indeed been sleeping for days.

“Let’s get up, okay?” Noctis said softly. He tucked some of Ardyn’s unruly hair behind an ear. “We have to get ready for the garden party. It’s today.”

Ardyn stretched languidly. He closed his eyes again, rolling over onto his back. “Ah yes. The party.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I…don’t think I’ll be able to attend, unfortunately.” 

Noctis wanted to cry. This was so not like Ardyn, yet it was obvious why! “But you love parties,” Noctis pointed out. “The Renquists will be there. Asking after you. And it’s the beginning of spring. The flowers are just starting to bloom. I’ll be in the lavender dress I showed you.” 

He wrapped Ardyn in his arms and held him close. “It’ll be great. Come on, let’s go together…” He wanted to rock him like a small child. But to be fair, Noctis had never done that for anyone before. He didn’t really know how to properly comfort someone. Or what exactly Ardyn needed from him in this moment.

All he could do was hold Ardyn. Hope that it told him everything he wanted to give him—his entire person. That’s all Noctis could do. 

Ardyn sighed and let himself be held. “Another time, Noct.” 

Holding Ardyn was like holding a limp sack of flour. But he was heavy somehow. A mass of muscle and dark thoughts. 

“Okay…” Noctis propped his lover up into a sitting position, leaning him against the headboard. “…but promise me you’ll at least get up and have something to eat?” He didn’t even want to ask when the last time Ardyn had eaten something was. Most likely, the older man didn’t even know. 

Ardyn chuckled weakly. His sleep shirt hung loosely off his chest, showcasing the black ink on his sternum. Right below his collarbones. (Noctis thought for the first time how much it must have hurt to get a tattoo right on your chest plate like that). 

The older man’s eyes were open into small slits. “Ah, promises promises. We mustn’t make promises we can’t keep.” 

Scrambling off the bed, Noctis threw open the curtains. Ushering in an onslaught of light. Ardyn hissed quietly as if the sun’s rays physically hurt him. 

“Then keep them. Problem solved,” Noctis offered. He tied back the curtains so they would stay open. “I’m gonna go get ready. Try to get dressed, okay?” 

Before he left for the spare bedroom where Aranea was probably waiting, Noctis kissed the side of Ardyn’s face. He wanted to turn Ardyn to the light, let him feel it. Let it chase away the shadows that still clung to him. Day and night. Always. Noctis wished he could free Ardyn from all that…

…But for now, this is what they had to work with. 

Noctis didn’t know what else to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything. Maybe the only thing he could do was show Ardyn something better than the drab walls and depression he’d been staring down for the past two days. 

So he kissed him again and made for the door. Leaving Ardyn alone even just in this room felt weird, but…Noctis promised aloud that he would be right back. 

“Just a quick visit to the powder room,” he said, donning Viola’s voice. 

Ardyn smiled slowly. 

Sure enough, Aranea was waiting for her mistress in the spare bedroom. Finishing up steaming the dress they picked out together. It was a light lavender silk taffeta affair. Plain, single-color with no patterns. The skirts were layered enough underneath that small bed of cotton crinoline was enough to keep the shape. She wouldn’t need a crinoline cage for once. Long sleeves with ruffles around the wrists (for warmth, since Viola would be going out without a cape or anything for the first time in a while). There was a v-neck on the bodice that plunged down into a row of mother of pearl buttons. Low, to be sure, but not low enough where Viola would need to wear a chemisette. She’d be showing just a bit of skin today, right to the hollow of her throat. She sincerely hoped the gesture would be appreciated. 

“Did you talk some sense into that man, miss?” Aranea asked, clutching Viola’s hands in greeting.

Viola squeezed her maid’s hands tightly in return. So happy to finally have some bonding time with her again. 

“I tried to,” she explained, peeling off the overcoat she had been wearing all morning. “He’s…in a bad way. How long has he been like that?”

“Couldn’t say, miss,” Aranea answered. She helped Viola out of her waistcoat and trousers. “I only arrived just a short while before you, and he was already in there. Dead to the world, I’d say.”

It was a good description. Viola leaned against the mirror so Aranea could lace her corset. Viola was in the habit now of wearing lady’s underthings beneath her clothes whenever she came to Engheld, just to ensure she had enough time to change. Plus, it felt marvelous to have a delicious little secret close to her skin where no one else could see. Refreshing, to say the least.

When she was fully outfitted in taffeta, a vision in subdued lavender, Aranea began working on her hair. 

“My, miss,” Aranea combed out fistful of silken black locks, marveling at sight and feel of such good hair. “Your hair has such lovely texture. It’s grown out quite nicely.” 

Viola brushed the front of her hair with pride. It reached just past her shoulders. Dusting the top of her dress every time she wore her hair down. She adored it! The way her hair framed her face. Softening all her features into ivory buttercream. There was even the tiniest hint of a natural curl along the ends. Her hair formed a cute little c-shape where it touched her shoulder. 

It was true what they said: A woman’s hair was her vanity. Viola wanted to grow it even longer! Until she could style it however she liked. Up, down, to the side. Braids, ringlets. Anything! 

Aranea gave her a cute up-do. Stylish braids along the front, where they would peek out from underneath the hat.

“Oh, Aranea!” Viola gasped when she saw the hat. “You shouldn’t have!”

Not only was the straw hat they’d bought as fashionable as Viola remembered—covered in white and lavender silk with a periwinkle sash of silk that served as a bow—Aranea had also primped the flowers resting on the left side! They looked much grander than before: Cornflowers and lilacs in fresh bloom. Their petals reaching for the sun. Thirsty for the oncoming spring.

“Of course I had to, miss,” Aranea answered. Hands on her hips. “How could I let you go to the party with such sad looking flowers? It’s spring, for god’s sake! They should be vibrant!” 

Viola couldn’t agree more. She loved the hat, especially when it was on her! The bright cornflowers highlighted the blue in her eyes, and the lilacs went with the dress. A perfect match. Viola looked like a fine Victorian lady, out for some afternoon tea with her closest companions.

Which she was!

“Go show him.” Aranea was beaming. Proud of her handiwork, as always. “You’re the brightest thing that’s been in this house in days. Years, even. Let’s be honest.” 

Viola giggled—but she had every intention of doing (and being) exactly that. 

———————-

Why in god’s name was the sun so bright? Ardyn was working on a theory that there must be something deceptive in London’s sun. Though nowhere near as hot as Australia’s, the light in London pierced his eyes in a way he had never felt on the colony. Like little needles, the sun in London was. Poking and prodding at him. He much preferred Australia’s unforgiving, all-encompassing heat. A sun that did not relent but also did not discriminate. 

Hang London, he thought. Let it hang. This cursed city…

Deep in his heart, Ardyn longed for the sweet comfort of his ranch back in Victoria. The unpredictable and ruthlessly fair wilderness. The quiet. The dirt. Everything in London was too cold and too well-polished…these were not to his liking anymore.

He wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. 

When the week started, Ardyn had thought he could shake off everything that happened at the ball. Just a random shadow from his past. All men live with such things, don’t they? So, Ardyn went out on the town towards the afternoon in response to some invitation for tea with friend from the club. A normal affair. 

But he was looking over the rim of his cup with every sip of tea. Afraid to let his guard down for even a moment. He used about half of his focus to attend to whatever conversation this man wanted from him, and the rest he used to watch the people coming and going around them. Every flash of white hair—any older gentleman—Ardyn thought was Iedolas. He saw that man’s hateful eyes in every shadow, every half-formed shape in the corner of his vision. 

If Iedolas ever saw Ardyn again, he would certainly make good on his promise. Figure out some kind of trumped up charge to throw Ardyn back in prison. Or else he would hire a killer—a man trained in these sorts of things, Ardyn knew the type—to murder Ardyn in the road. Make it look like an accident. Or else an unsolvable murder that no one would work to hard to suss out. 

Ardyn clenched the sheets between his fists. Iedolas. _Why_. This man had poured every ounce of his spite and darkness and hatred into Ardyn’s person. Why? Because of Mary—but no. Ardyn had made his peace with Mary over the long course of his twelve year sentence. Iedolas, it seemed, had not done the same. 

He never would. He’d never let Ardyn go. He’d hunt him forever, wouldn’t he? As long as Ardyn walked the earth? 

“What then, Aldercapt,” Ardyn mumbled to the empty room. “What will you do when I’m gone? Banish all the darkness in every man and bring peace to England? Erase me from history once more…?” 

The anger in Ardyn’s stomach tasted like a hot stone. He felt it swelling, obliterating all other thoughts. How dare this man judge him? How dare he follow him? How dare he pin every evil that existed in life on Ardyn’s one being? As if he were a creature, not even a man?

Ardyn squeezed the sheets so hard they almost ripped. His anger and despair were two sides of the same coin. When the anger finally dissipated, all Ardyn was left with was the despair. The feeling of meaninglessness. Apathy. The sense that nothing in this world mattered. Not one single thing. 

It drove Ardyn to lie on his bed. When it occurred to him that he should rise, he swatted the thought as if batting away gnats. There was no world outside the maw of darkness in his own mind. He’d known this for quite a while. Iedolas was waiting for him outside probably. They’d have it out. Once and for all. Until nothing was left of Ardyn except an empty shell…a husk of meat and bone. 

Then Noctis arrived and roused him from his slumber. The world was more focused when Noctis was there. Ardyn was able to see that he could not, in fact, relegate himself to his bedchambers for the rest of his life. (Although the thought was tempting.) When Noctis touched him, Ardyn was able to breathe. Clean, painless breathing. For once.

If there could be a creature as warm and heavenly as Noctis, then perhaps the world was not dead after all…

Ardyn heaved a weary sigh and put his feet on the floor. Sitting up on his own was a chore. His body was weary and tired. Aching for another lie down. He could almost feel the scars along his back, leeching the life out of him. 

Then there was a knock on the door. Ardyn raised his head, uncertain how long he’d been trying to drag himself to his feet. 

Without hesitation, Viola sashayed into his bedroom. Head to toe in lavender. A garden bursting into life. Soft and quietly excited. Happiness painted across each one of her features. And her tight, tempting body. Her hips begging for Ardyn’s hands.

She twirled for him. Giving him the whole view. Chuckling quietly (oh, she knew what effect she had on him, didn’t she?). 

“This is it! How do I look?” 

Ardyn’s eyes cleared, turning shiny molten gold. His best asset. He rose to his feet without a second thought, forgetting the pain in his back and in his bones. He sauntered over to his lover with nascent hunger written on his face.

“Now you, my dear, are a sight for sore eyes.” Ardyn hooked his arm around Viola’s waist. Pulling her closer. “Clarity incarnate…”

He brought his nose within a hair’s breadth of hers. “You exquisite girl.” He ran his hands up and down her bodice as he spoke. Teasing her mother of pearl buttons with one exploratory thumb. “You…cleanse the doors of my perception, one might say. The point where everything appears to man as it is: Infinite.”

Smiling lasciviously, he kissed each one of her cheeks. Whispering poetry all the while. “A vision off all things seen thro’ the narrow chinks of my cavern…” 

Viola giggled. She pecked Ardyn on the lips (careful of her rouge) and said, “Well you’re quoting Blake again. So I guess you’re feeling better?”

Unable to stop himself, Ardyn buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. He reveled in the dulcet floral notes of Viola’s perfume. 

Here, he could breathe. He felt like a human again. After so long wandering in the dark. This woman…her sweet beauty. Her undisguised (and certainly unwarranted, Ardyn had to believe) love for him. Freely given. She was the only thing Ardyn’s soul could truly see when he was in despair like that. There was a strong possibility she did not even realize how much she cleansed him, but she laced their fingers together all the same. 

“More like paraphrasing,” Ardyn admitted, smiling. “But yes.” 

“That’s good. Come on.” 

Viola led Ardyn by the hand. Out of the bedroom, down the stairs. Into the sitting room where Caligo was waiting with some left over meat pie. He pushed the plate into his friend’s hand, and held up a tumbler of gin. 

“Such gifts,” Ardyn mused. He stuck a forkful of pie into his mouth, trying not to gag on the taste. The flakey crust of the pie was quite buttery. Too-rich food made his stomach turn sometimes. “What ever have I done to deserve them?”

“Nothing, probably,” Aranea interjected. She came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on an apron. “Just be glad Miss Gainsborough and Mr. Ulldor see fit to put up with you in the first place.” 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in an apron, Miss Highwind,” Ardyn pointed out. Semi-facetiously. 

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it!” The reluctant housekeeper retreated into the kitchen. 

Viola was intensely relieved to see her lover finally eating. Dragged from his solitary cave and forced slumber. Amongst the living! She spared a glance at Ulldor, who nodded to her. Not crisply this time. Deep and slow. A sign of respect.

She blushed, but returned the nod. Hoping that she could keep her standing in Caligo’s eyes in the times to come as well. 

“I’m off, then,” Viola announced. She would be taking a hansom to the Renquists’s house in Kensington. “Tea is at twelve.” 

This was to be Viola’s first time alone out on the town. Not her technical first time, since that was when Prompto left her in Ravenscourt, but…actual, self-aware first time. Now Viola knew what dangers lay on the streets of London for a woman alone. And she was ready. She intended to go straight to Kensington and then straight back. No dilly-dallying! 

Ardyn choked down another bite of pie. He regarded his lover warily. “…Do remain alert, Viola, darling,” he said. Suddenly uncertain about any of this.

Viola adjusted her hat in the mirror above the stone cold fireplace. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be fine. Just tea with the ladies and then I’ll come right home.” She flashed a smile at Ardyn. “I’ll make sure I mention your name, too. So they know you’re still alive and everything.” 

Ardyn harrumphed. “They have no reason to think me dead…” 

He suddenly had a bizarre fear that maybe Iedolas was keeping tabs on Viola as well. Or trying to. Trying to figure out what woman it was exactly who spent all her free time with Ardyn. Searching for an identity…oh, that would be a horrid reality, wouldn’t it? Ardyn narrowed his eyes just thinking about it. Iedolas somehow finding a way to drag Viola into their tiff…

No, but. That was very unlikely. These were just paranoid delusions. A man wouldn’t go after an innocent woman because of something that happened twenty years ago…

The more Ardyn thought about it, the more worried he became. It sounded more and more plausible in his head.

…Was he going mad? Perhaps he’d already gotten there. After all, facing insanity as an ultimate fate had always been on the table. Ever since ’31. 

Viola kissed the top of his head. Ardyn tried not to think about anything other than her lips. He would wait up for her, of course. Right here in this very spot. But he did not have the agency over Viola to keep her trapped in this house like a recluse just because that was Ardyn’s lot in life. 

He watched her go, his heart tangled up in the most incomprehensible knots. Viola loved him, for some godforsaken reason. Ardyn should be chasing her away with every fiber of his being! Making sure she lived a good life.

Alas, he was not strong enough. He loved her. That’s all he could bear. 

At the very least, though, Viola was far too beautiful to haunt the dusty old hallways of Engheld. Ardyn would admit that much.

____________________________________

_Kensington_  
_The House of Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Renquist_  
_29 March, 1857  
_ _Thursday - Afternoon_

“Oh, Viola darling!” Molly squeezed Viola’s hands and kissed both her cheeks the moment she was announced at the front door. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived!”

“Of course! I would have been so sorry to miss this.” Viola laughed sweetly. Polite as anything.

She followed her hostess through the front door and into the house. They would be luncheoning on the Renquist’s private gardens, the grounds in the back of the townhouse. Quite expansive for the heart of London. But then again, Kensington. The Renquists were, as always, making it clear that they were not hurting for money. The house itself was lavish enough (newly furnished, of course) and the gardens were decorated. Ribbons on the trees, wrought iron furniture. Glass tables. Servants in full livery with white cloths on their arms, serving a clutch of ladies already sitting at table.

The other ladies (none of whom Viola knew) exclaimed when they saw her. They greeted her warmly and Molly called a servant over right away to serve her a fresh cup of tea. When Viola took her seat, she savored the taste of sweet victory.

It was so splendid being out on her own! In a way she hadn’t even anticipated. Sure, being out with Ardyn was fun (mostly as a preamble to the most glorious sex a body could stand). But autonomy! Viola loved sitting with the other ladies like a grown woman! Blending perfectly into their society. Escorting herself! Head held high. Unashamed. Both exhilarated and naturally calm at the same time. 

This was a huge high point, Viola thought. Entertaining oneself for a day on the town. She would take full advantage! 

They were six ladies altogether. Molly, her sister Euphie (clearly middle class, but holding her own regardless), and Euphie’s sister-in-law Beatrice. Then there were two other friends of Molly’s: Hester, a dour lady with a last name Viola didn’t recognize, and Alberta Tummult. Hard not to know her; she was the second daughter of the Tummult family. Debuted years ago, something of an old maid now. But not quite so earnestly looking for a husband, so the rumors went, to her family’s extreme displeasure. Alberta had the natural Tummult look, sandy blonde hair and sharp, breathtaking eyes. She seemed intelligent. At least as much as her brothers, whom Noctis had entertained on a number of occasions over the years.

“We were just talking about Mr. Slatterly’s daughter,” Molly announced excitedly, bringing Viola into the fold. “Did you see her at the Eckhart’s ball?” 

Viola knew exactly who they were talking about. “Yes. Powder blue satin and chiffon, wasn’t she wearing?” 

Molly’s eyes sparkled in delight. “Indeed! Oh, you have such an eye for fashion, Viola. Tell us! What _did_ you think of her headdress?” 

Mm, of course that was the subject of conversation. Miss Slattery had been wearing a crown of peonies and baby’s breath, quite the statement! Viola thought it looked nice—she felt bold was better than old—but she’d seen quite a few ladies talking behind their fans. Giving her odd looks. The headdress as an outfit piece was a bit much. 

“Umm, well..” Viola sipped her tea hesitantly. Trying to read the mood. It was hard to tell from their faces whether they thought the piece was the next best thing or some ridiculous farce! “I think…” 

Alberta sighed and broke eye contact with Viola. She looked utterly bored by this subject of conversation. Beatrice and Hester stiffened at the lady’s rudeness, but Euphie was smiling sweetly. Truly interested. She seemed like quite a nice girl. Much younger than Molly, with a similar build. Eager for a good tale. 

Viola went on. Rejuvenated by Euphie’s encouraging look. “I think her lady’s maid ought to be commended! It must have taken hours to arrange that thing in Miss Slattery’s hair.”

Beatrice softened when she heard that. It seemed she was not keen on insulting other people’s fashions either. “Well said, Miss Gainsborough.” 

Molly laughed cheerily. “Yes, definitely. There were quite a few _elaborate_ styles at the ball though, don’t you think?”

They carried on like this for some time. The servants offered cucumber sandwiches which they nibbled politely in between quips.

Finally Alberta spoke up. She’d been quiet for some time until now. “Well then. If we’re quite finished rehashing all the gowns we saw at Eckhart’s…” Her tone was to the point. Not smoothened at all for anyone’s benefit. “Has anyone been following the exposé in the papers about Lord Cardigan?” 

Molly took a deep breath and sighed. “Oh, Albie. Not _that_ again…”

“Of course we have,” Hester announced. Almost indignant at the implication. “It’s a rather interesting affair.” 

“Please, let us not speak ill of His Lordship,” Beatrice groaned. She clutched a hand to her throat. “My brother-in-law met him once and he’s a rather approachable gentleman, he said."

“Approachable or not, he might be in a bit of hot water over this matter of the Light Brigade,” Alberta said. There was a smile teasing around her lips. As if she delighted in seeing a great man like Lord Cardigan come to an early fall. 

“Not likely,” Euphie added. “Cardigan is still quite popular among most.” 

They argued over this point for a bit. Viola could hardly believe her ears! Even the women were talking about the fallout of the Crimean War! It was inescapable! Not only that, the women (Alberta and Euphie in particular) seemed to have a rather nuisance view of the matter. Alberta was of the unpopular opinion that Cardigan should stand trial for incompetence during the war, while Euphie felt that the idealized version of Cardigan stood for quite a bit more than the man himself. She argued that Cardigan was a symbol of old England that must not fall, lest the Empire lose its own identity. 

Viola had never thought of it that way before. 

…Damn. These women were smart! Well-educated, certainly. Viola settled comfortably in their company, watching the conversation go back and forth. She was learning a lot just be being there. These women—unlike the Lords in parliament—spoke their minds without worrying about the consequences. Alberta had a sharper tongue than probably half the men sitting in the House right now. Euphie was pragmatic and a traditionalist, but she did not shy away from saying how she felt. 

Viola wanted to be like that. 

She thought back to Ardyn for a moment. To Luna as well. If only she could say what she really felt for both of them. How she wanted to live. That Noctis’s life was far too strangling the way it was now. She could not see herself going deeper and deeper into that hole by marrying someone as wonderful as Luna. Luna deserved to be with the people she loved—whoever they were, if anyone! She should have a say in her own life, rather than Noctis and Regis deciding it for her. 

If only Noctis was brave enough to have that kind of conversation with her. To find out what she really wanted.

“The real people who should be tried and hanged,” Hester added, shocking Viola back to the conversation at hand. “Are those idiots that invested in Russia during the war. Aldercapt and the like.” 

“That poor man,” Beatrice agreed.

“Yes, I heard that he was pressured into it.” This was the first thing Molly said since the conversation began. She seemed rejuvenated by the talk of money—duplicitously exchanged in this case. She lowered her voice and continued. “By that Lucis fellow. Seems they had some kind of history and Lucis put the arm on Aldercapt for more and more money. Whatever was between them, Aldercapt obliged.” 

“Ill-advised business relations, do you think?” Euphie asked.

Viola’s ears burned. This was a new piece of information. And she alone knew the real connection between Lucis (Delvyn, in this case) and Aldercapt. The connection was Ardyn. Specifically, Ardyn’s demise. Apparently Delvyn must have been short on cash for his disastrous investments, so he persuaded Aldercapt into giving him money. Calling on the way he’d helped put Mary’s murderer (his own brother no less) in prison, guilting him into providing more and more funds. To Aldercapt’s peril, of course.

A thought struck Viola. She remembered them talking about something like this in Steyliff Grove. It’s where she first heard the name Aldercapt. 

“Did Aldercapt get hit rather hard, then?” Viola asked curiously. Hoping the truth of her interest wasn’t legible on her face. “When the war was over?” (She already knew what happened to Delvyn.) 

“Oh yes, terribly!” The women nodded emphatically, as if this were common knowledge. “Not a penny to his name, I heard. One wonders how Aldercapt is even staying afloat!”

“I heard his son has been supporting him.” Hester sniffed in pity. “Should be the other way around, shouldn’t it? The father supporting the son? I imagine there’s quite a bit of resentment on both sides in that relationship.” 

“ _Dreadful_.” Euphie shook her head.

“A ghastly turn of events,” Beatrice agreed.

Alberta was smiling into her teacup. 

Although Viola knew enough about Aldercapt to think that he was a terribly cruel man—vengeful to say the least—she could not help feeling the tiniest bit sorry for him. He’d lost his wife to addiction, a death that drove him mad enough to sentence a tangential man to imprisonment. Then he’d been fooled into losing all his life’s savings. And here he was already in his elderly years, unable to pull himself up by his bootstraps and start again.

It can’t have been easy for Iedolas, Viola thought. If only she could talk to him. Reason with him. Try to get him to understand that Delvyn, not Ardyn, had been the source of all his woes. That Mary died simply because she was sick. That Ardyn suffered too when she died. In his own ways. 

Viola closed her eyes as she contemplated the miserable life of Iedolas Aldercapt. 

Maybe someday she’d sit down and have a long conversation with all the people in her life. One at a time, or altogether. Let them know everything in her heart. Someday when she was strong enough. …Likely impossible though it was.

“Oh, let’s talk about something more cheerful!” Molly insisted. The mood lifted slightly. “Did you _see_ the necklace the Baroness’s daughter was wearing on Saturday?” 

——————————

All in all, Viola had quite a nice time at the Renquist’s during the garden party. The women were great company, and they complimented her hat more than once (these were good people, Viola decided). When it was time to leave, she found herself somewhat regretful. She could have stayed chatting for much longer if time would only allow. 

They kissed goodbye when afternoon turned to evening, and they all promised to have another party again soon. Viola said that she’d like that.

“You’re coming to the regatta, aren’t you?” Molly asked breathlessly. 

Oh, shit, the regatta! How could Viola have forgotten! The Regatta was coming up next week! Should have been somewhere around April 4th or 5th. The annual boat race between Oxford and Cambridge. Noctis went every year! He’d of course been planning on going again this year…but now Molly was inviting Viola. 

How fun it would be to attend the race as Viola! He’d get the chance to see all his new friends and chat with them, just like he’d done today! It was still early in the Season. Noctis could stand to lose another social engagement, surely. Just one more! Everything else would just have to wait.

“Oh and you must bring Mr. Izunia along!” Molly insisted. “He’s such great fun!”

Viola nodded without thinking. “We’ll be there!” 

Yes, definitely! The boat race was the perfect thing to get Ardyn out of the house. There would be so many people in attendance, one could hide in plain sight! She’d have to convince Ardyn to come with her to the Boat Race. It was the first official start of spring, after all. 

“Splendid. Looking forward to it!”

“Me as well!”

Then she filed into another hansom cab and returned home by herself. Her exciting day out was done. 

____________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_29 March 1857  
_ _Thursday - evening_

Viola found Ardyn still in the sitting room when she returned to Engheld. He seemed rather relieved to see her.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked, unfastening the hat from her hair (it was held in place by numerous pins, after all). 

Ardyn came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Yes. Naturally.” 

He was so happy she had returned. And baffled, to say the least! Why would such a beautiful woman come back to him? She had the whole world at her fingertips, and yet…she had chosen to return to Engheld. For what? …For him? This broken old man? 

And yet, here she was. In his arms. Real, with a still-beating heart.

Burning with a sudden onslaught of desire, Ardyn wrapped his lips around the exposed part of Viola’s neck. He dug his teeth in just a bit, losing control of his compulsions and giving in to his baser needs. The part of him that wanted to ravish Viola piece by splendid piece. To turn her into his goddess, to make her feel so much ecstasy she finally achieved some measure of peace.

He knew how much she suffered in her body sometimes. At war with how she felt and how she looked. Ardyn wished she could see herself the way he saw her: As the embodiment of perfection.

“Will you let me worship you tonight?” Ardyn whispered hotly in her ear. 

He leaned forward, pressing himself into the small of her back. So she could feel how incredibly hard he was for her. 

Viola’s gasp quickly turned into a giggle. She liked the sound of that—and the feel, honestly. There was a lot she could get out of a ramrod like the one digging into her right now. The implication alone was enough to get her mouth watering.

She leaned back into Ardyn’s arms. “Mm, whatever do you mean by that, sir?” 

“Let me show you…” 

In a feat of strength, Ardyn scooped Viola into his arms and carried her—whole body—up the stairs to his bedroom. Gone was the man who could not get out of bed for lack of vitality. Here was the man who had worked for twelve years on a hard labor colony. To be manhandled—so expertly, in point of fact—aroused Viola so much, she was a wanton mess by the time they reached Ardyn’s bedroom. 

Thrown on the bed, Viola pulled her skirts up to her waist. Her glistening panties showcased her own hard-on for Ardyn quite nicely. He growled and dove on the eager little bulge in her drawers with all his might. 

That night, Ardyn resided between Viola’s legs. Underneath mountains of crinoline and taffeta. He lavished her sweet center with more attention than most women got in a lifetime. Sucking her cock straight down his throat, bringing her to orgasm again and again. Mercilessly almost. Licking the back of her legs until she was begging him to lick her cunt.

But she did not have to beg. Ardyn stuffed his face between her asscheeks, licking her core until Viola’s eyes rolled back and her body contorted in bliss. Ardyn didn’t even really need to use his cock to please her—but he did. Only after well over an hour of oral pleasure.

He could have stayed down there indefinitely. As long as Viola liked. Stopping only when she grew weary, no sooner.

Although, Viola liked a hard fucking too. So Ardyn obliged her with that as well. 

“I love you Ardyn!” Noctis screamed, throat gone hoarse from all the moaning.

“Oh my dear,” Ardyn thrust into him. Rough and steady. “I love you… _infinitely_.” 

Noctis knew it was true as soon as he heard it. There was no way to lie to each other anymore. It was true and it was real— _this!_

This was the place Noctis wanted to be for the rest of his life.

________________________________________________

_Chiswick_  
_30 March, 1857  
_ _Friday - Morning_

“Noctis, would you care to explain some things to me?” 

Regis called his son down to breakfast as soon as Noctis returned. He’d spent the night at Engheld, naturally. He arrived home in rumpled men’s clothes, looking as if he’d been passed through a mortar and pestle. Limping. This time, Regis did not even give his son a chance to eat before he started asking questions. 

His cobalt eyes were filled to the brim with the coldness Noctis knew so well. The same look he’d given Noctis the day after the ball. They hadn’t spoken since their last argument, evidence enough that Regis was still pissed. Normally it took a good two weeks for Regis to get over whatever grudge he was holding above Noctis’s head. 

It hadn’t even been one full week yet. So they were still working well within Regis’s period of heavy resentment. That much was clear from the look on his father’s face. The same disappointment and faint disgust he’d shown his son a few days earlier. 

“Bear in mind,” Regis continued. “I despise lying. Although this is a trait you seem rather gifted with.” 

Noctis sat at the table and told himself he’d just have to wait out this fight. Let it pass over him. Come out the other end intact. Try not to let himself get riled up…nothing good came from losing his temper. Regis always tricked him into some kind of guilty admission when he was upset like that.

“Alright, Dad. What is it?” Noctis crossed his arms over his chest. Ungentlemanly, defensive. 

“How is it…” Regis opened his book of accounts, sitting at the breakfast table like it was a normal thing. (Actually it sort of was. Regis reviewed the family fundings with as much interest as he did the daily paper some days, so the serving staff knew to bring it right to the table when he asked for it.) “…that I give you an allowance of almost ten thousand a month and yet you somehow find a way to spend it all between each check? Your accounts are quite low, by my reckoning. And I cannot fathom as to why.” 

Noctis began to sweat. This was a first. Regis had never out and out questioned him about his finances before. Noctis always thought they were working on a policy of willful ignorance. That Regis truly did not even want to know. 

“Well, I buy things, Dad…” Noctis admitted weakly. Clothes mostly. Myriad gowns for Viola and suits for Ardyn. Ballgowns and evening wear. Riding clothes. Now spring attire. It wasn’t cheap, but Noctis could afford it if he used what Regis gave him.

“What. What do you buy.” It wasn’t a question, Regis was looking Noctis right in the eyes. Demanding. Seething.

This was the rage that had been building between them for months. Ever since January and the New Year’s party, probably. Regis never really forgot a slight. Especially not from Noctis. The betrayal the night of the ball—the fact that Noctis still hadn’t given Regis any kind of explanation for his whereabouts that night—was the final straw. 

Regis was buckling down. Rearing the head of the dragon inside of him that refused all affronts, real and imagined. The Lord. Lord Caelum himself. 

Noctis took a deep breath. “Like, clothes and stuff…” 

“Clothes. For ten thousand a month?” Regis snapped the book closed with a harsh slap. It rang throughout the dining room. “I cannot imagine the most expensive tailors in London charge that much for a suit. And I always see you in the same attire.” 

…That was true…

“Well, I go out too. You know, like, with guys from the club…” Noctis was reaching with this. But he had to come up with something! 

“Do you, Noctis? Do you?” Regis pushed the book away from him so he could lay his hands on the table. “Because no one I know can recall the last time they saw you at a club. Other than White Hall that night I forced you to go and entertain Luna. They haven’t seen you in _months_.”

Right. Regis’s spies. How could Noctis forget? He had no response to that.

Seeing his son stumped, Regis blinked. Lowering his voice for just a moment. “Noct, why must you thwart my attempts to help you settle? Do you find Lunafreya that unappealing that you would seek to go against my wishes at _every_ opportunity?” 

“No, no it’s not about Luna, Dad…” Noctis buried his hands in his hair. 

He was torn. Should he just come out with the truth? Tell his dad where he went every night? Part of him so badly wanted to! The little boy in his heart who wanted his father’s approval no matter how bad the circumstances! Regis would be shocked, of course, but…maybe he’d like to know. Maybe he’d like to see his son for who he really was…

“Noctis, look at me.” 

He looked.

“I am not a young man,” Regis explained. 

Noctis groaned. “Dad, don’t—”

“No, it’s time you heard this.” His voice was stern. “I’m not going to be around forever. And when I’m not, the Citadel will be yours. You’ll be responsible for all the estate’s affairs and…it’ll be hard.” Regis shook his head regretfully. “I…tried to teach you. To give you what a man needs in order to be the head of a household. It helps if you have a wife, son, someone who can attend to you and give you children. Something to dote upon that will keep you grounded—”

“I—…!” Noctis had to interrupt his father there. He didn’t even want to think about Luna—or any woman!— _attending_ to his _needs_. He didn’t want to think about children or duties or anything…Noctis already had someone to dote upon. And he doted quite enough! More than he ever thought possible, truly. 

Regis waited, but Noctis had nothing to say. The words wouldn’t come.

So, Regis continued. “But instead of letting me help you, you insist on fighting me.” 

The old man looked weary for the first time in a very long time. His age finally showed The lines on his face were deep. Long. His lips were pale and drawn. It looked as if life, for him, had stopped being about himself. He did not carry the bearing of someone who enjoyed living. Instead he looked like a person who lived because of a calling. Because he _had_ to. He had a duty to fulfill and so he must live. He must take care of the estate and raise Noctis into a proper gentleman. Personal pleasures be damned. 

It was…sad. Noctis was struck by the sadness he felt, seeing his father so worn.He never wanted to look like that in his whole life! 

“Dad…” 

Noctis slowly extended a hand to Regis. Trying to offer his father a small bit of comfort. He didn’t know what, or how, but. Noctis didn’t want his father to keep suffering! Such a bland, tasteless life. A life of endless tasks and responsibilities. How awful! Couldn’t he show Regis there was more? That personal enjoyment _must_ factor into the equation for any life to be worth living? 

Regis raised his eyebrows when he saw his son’s hands. He looked relieved—for the tiniest fraction of a second—and then it was gone. His eyes turned sharp. Ruthless. The unrelenting Lord once more.

“Enough.” Regis waved his hand in irritation. “This needs to stop. You’re going to get your act together, Noctis. You must! Starting _today_!” He jabbed the table with his finger to emphasize his point. 

Noctis sighed. He wished their moment hadn’t been ruined. “…What do you want me to do, Dad?” 

“You know very well what I want you to do! I want you to stop acting like a…bloody _toddler_ and propose to Lunafreya!” 

Well. No arguing that. Regis had made that clear since day one. But Noctis just couldn’t do it…

So he had no reply.

Calming himself (more like settling into his fury, digging his heels in), Regis leaned back in his chair. “But, barring that, you’re going to start looking and acting like a proper gentleman. Enough is enough. For one, you’re going to cut that ridiculous hair you’ve been keeping just to spite me for the past several months.” 

Pain twisted in Noctis’s guts. That’s not why he’d been keeping his hair like this. Regis thought it was…an insult? How could he…? Well to be fair, it was something Noctis might have done in the past. But he’d changed recently. Now he only did things to make himself feel better in his own skin. Or to make Ardyn feel better, or help other people. In fact, over the past few months, Noctis had actually grown up quite a bit. But his father couldn’t see it because Noctis still looked nothing like the man Regis expected—

“A gentleman does not wear his hair like some…Bohemian roustabout.” Regis shivered in disgust. “Your hair is horribly unsightly and it must be trimmed. Have Ignis take care of this right away."

Hell no! Noctis had no intention of cutting his hair! Not now, maybe not ever! Especially not when the boat race was coming up and Noctis wanted to wear the most delightful spring hat (he already had one in mind, actually, and he’d need long locks to pull off the look). 

“Fine.” Noctis said with a shrug. The same way he always blew off his father. Agreeing, but certainly not readily. It would be done _sometime_. That should be good enough.

Regis’s face darkened. “No. Not fine. You’re going to have Ignis take care of your hair right this very moment. Now. Send for him.” 

“…Here?” Noctis glanced around at the breakfast table. Most of the plates were cleared but…did Regis really want him to get a haircut in the dining room? Was his father out of his mind? Noctis shook his head. “Dad, come on. I’ll get a haircut okay, just not like _now_ obviously—” 

“No. You’ll get one now.” Regis turned to the servants standing nearby. “Fetch Mr. Scientia, please. And the necessary materials.”

A maid curtseyed in response. “Yes sir.” She disappeared to retrieve Ignis as well as a bowl, a mirror, and a sharp pair of scissors.

“Dad, _seriously_?” Noctis’s bitter surprise was turning into anger. What the hell was his father trying to pull? Some display of power? Over something as silly as a haircut? 

Noctis ran a hand through his long locks nervously. No way Ignis would cut them—he knew how much hair meant to Noct at this point. But then…could Ignis really refuse when Regis was there, _ordering_ him to do it?

Shit. A cold, queasy feeling turned over in Noctis’s stomach. This was bad. He might actually…! Afraid for the first time since he’d sat down, Noctis’s first instinct was to wrap his hair up in a bun. Like it usually was (he’d had it down out of laziness today when he came back from Engheld). 

“I’ll tie it up okay?” Noctis gathered his hair into a loose ponytail. “You don’t have to make Ignis do this. He has stuff to do and I mean this is ridiculous—”

Regis nodded for a refill on his tea. As the footman poured, Regis sighed. Lofty and removed. “No. You won’t tie it up, Noctis. You’re going to have it cut once and for all. The Season’s already started, for god’s sake…” 

At that moment, Ignis arrived. He bowed his way through the door. Of course he would appear as promptly as possible with the lord of the house summoning him. Noctis wanted to cry when he saw Ignis. He looked at his valet with wide, desperate eyes.

But Ignis was looking down. Head bowed. “Lord Caelum, you sent for me. How may I be of service, my lord, sir?” 

“Ignis, good to see you.” Regis sighed in relief, as if finally speaking to a man of reason. But his eyes were merciless when they landed on the valet. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, Mr. Scientia, that my son’s hair has grown rather unruly of late. Have you not?”

Ignis paused for a full five seconds. Unheard of for a valet in the presence of a lord. He seemed to understand what this was about. Keeping his head down, Ignis replied, “Master Caelum’s hair is…longer than usual, my lord, sir.” 

“Mm. Indeed.” Regis set his coffee down. “And you have not seen fit to handle this matter as a man in your position should?” 

Ignis flinched as if slapped. 

“Dad, come _on_!” Noctis was yelling now. How could Regis possibly turn this around on Ignis, make this his fault! It was horribly unfair, almost cruel! “I’ll get a haircut, okay! I said I would! Just give me some time!”

“You’ve had time, Noctis. Plenty of it. Now you are on borrowed time. Time a young lord such as yourself must invest wisely. With no such tawdry foolishness as unkempt appearance.” 

Noctis’s hands were shaking. He was so mad and so scared. The thought of going back to short hair made him want to scream—he’d never felt quite this upset over his own hair before, but…he remembered how striking Viola looked in that hat. Her hairpiece from the ball. These things were immensely precious to Viola. She glowed from the inside out when she wore her hair like a lady and…the boat race…

Right now she felt vile. Her head—almost literally—on the chopping block. 

“Ignis, you’ve been remiss,” Regis pronounced. A harsh punishment for any valet that took pride in his work. And this was the most loyal man in the business! 

Ignis bowed at the waist. As low as he could. “…My deepest apologies, my lord, sir. I…well, I…” 

“Enough.” Regis held out his hand, cutting Ignis off. “Let us remedy the situation presently.” He gestured to the materials in the maid’s hand. “You will give my son a look that is befitting of someone in his position. Now, if you please.” 

Ignis raised his head to look at the materials. His eyes swept towards Noctis. When he saw his master near tears, Ignis immediately bowed again. Not moving an inch.

“I will…defer to Master Caelum’s wishes in this regard, my lord, sir.” 

Noctis’s heart almost burst with love. There was Ignis, defending him to the end. Even standing up to Lord Regis himself over something as trivial as his hair. Just because the valet knew the significance. 

That was _his_ Iggy. Noctis could have hugged him right there.

“Will you?” Regis’s eyes burned with anger. “Well I think you’ll find that my wishes extend to Noctis’s own, since I am the Lord of this household and he is my son. So you can consider my orders to be given from his mouth as well.”

“Okay, this is crazy.” Noctis rose to his feet. “You need to like go on vacation or something, Dad, you’re being ridiculous! I’m not going to sit around and let you tell Ignis what to do—”

Regis nodded to the nearby footman. Immediately, the footman walked to the room’s only exit and shut the door. He stood near the doorway. Standing guard. What was worse—he didn’t make eye contact with Noctis. Because he knew exactly what this meant.

Noctis was not permitted to leave until this was done.

Rounding on his father, Noctis slammed his hands down on the breakfast table. Mostly out of helplessness. “What the _fuck_?! You are serious right now—”

“Watch yourself, Noctis.” Regis tapped the book of accounts on the table. “I have half a mind to cut your allowance out of my budget as it is. You must prove to me that you have even a speck of sense left in order to keep it.” 

“My allowance?” Was all this about money?! “Dad what are you even saying?!”

Regis raised his eyes to meet his son’s. “I think I’m being very clear. A gentleman must not traipse around town with hair past his shoulders. It is uncivilized and garish.” 

“That’s not fucking true!” Noctis wanted to throw something against the wall. To have a tantrum like he was a little kid—

—if only it would have made a difference.

Panting heavily, Noctis forced himself to take a seat. He closed his eyes and tried to think of a different father. This man in front of him, cold and callous, could not be the Regis Noctis loved as a child. Noctis remembered…he thought, at least…

“That’s not true,” he repeated. Calmer. He stared back at Regis and tried to see the man his father used to be. “I used to have long hair. A while ago. …with Mom.” 

Regis reared back in his seat. It looked the wind had just been knocked out of him. His mouth fought soundlessly over several different words for one painful moment—Noctis had never mentioned Aulea before. Not to Regis’s face. Nor had he ever brought up their time Sussex. That distant world where Noctis ran the wilds like a wood nymph, riding horseback in his mother’s lap. 

Did Regis even remember those times?

As if in answer to that question, Regis shook his head. Frigid and stubborn. He regarded Ignis with the look of a man completely beside himself. Ready to pick up the scissors himself and hack Noctis’s hair to bits. 

“You have been given a task, Mr. Scientia.” His voice was smooth like silk but freezing. “These are the demands of your employer.”

That couldn’t be any clearer. Do this or you’re dismissed.

Ignis faltered for but a moment. He looked at Noctis, his green eyes narrowed in indecision. Then, he straightened his back and pressed his arms crisply to his sides. A proper address from servant to master.

“My lord, forgive me, but I must respectfully—”

“It’s okay.” Noctis stopped Ignis from saying the words that would have been the end of his career. Instead, he turned to his friend with a look of sad resignation. “It’s okay, Iggy. Just do it.” 

The crack in Noctis’s heart—the place where his treasured memories of Regis used to live—had been blown wide open. This man Regis had become…he was so broken. So _changed_. Fighting through a world of hurt, Noctis could see the pain there on his father’s face, all on his own. 

Hurt did things to a person. Noctis knew that. He had seen the way it changed people. Ardyn, Iedolas, Aranea. Even Delvyn, in his own twisted way. The man Regis was now…this man would never rest until Noctis cut his hair. If Ignis refused to do it, Regis would just fire him and bring in someone else. No sense in that.

And so, as much as Noctis despised the idea, as much as he wanted to start sobbing like a child and clutching his hair in desperation, he knew there was only one logical solution: Just get it over with.

Noctis pulled his chair away from the table and removed his overcoat. He put his hands in his lap, the perfect position for Ignis to get started cutting his hair. 

“Master Caelum…” Ignis went to his side, speaking quietly. Uncertain.

Noctis just nodded. “Go ahead. Don’t take too long, okay?” 

Ignis swallowed audibly. He bent his lips close to Noctis’s ear, pretending he was brushing off the lord’s shoulders to disguise the movement, and whispered, “Forgive me.” 

Noctis touched the back of Ignis’s fingers for a brief moment (pretending he was pushing the hair out of his eyes). He hoped the gesture said what he needed to say. 

_I already do._

With that, Ignis looked back at the Lord of the house. Regis barked, “To your task, man.” A curt order. Unmistakable. 

So, Ignis nodded at the maid with the mirror. She held it in front of Noctis’s face, giving Ignis the view he needed. When she was still, he began. 

The scissors were so noisy. Noctis squeezed his eyes closed. No part of him wanted to watch this happen. He would have stopped his ears if he could—every cut of the scissors rang loud enough that Noctis thought for sure they were echoing around the vast dining room. 

He felt lighter. Bare. Exposed. The truth of his prescribed gender—the manliness of him that he so often tried to hide. That part of him was becoming more and apparent. Every time the scissors moved.

Regis rambled as Ignis worked. “You’re as stubborn as a stable mule, sometimes, Noctis. I swear.” Regis gestured for another refill on his tea. He blew on it and sipped. “Over the simplest matters. I tell you, you would hardly believe how many men came up to me in White’s the other day. Asking me if I knew what my own son looked. A traveling monk, some said. A circus performer. Some kind of sideshow attraction.”

Regis shook his head in disgust. “Unheard of. For a Caelum man to keep hair past his shoulders. Ruinous, even.” 

Noctis didn’t want to listen. He tried not to. He was imagining the father from his youth. The one who used to rock him on the tall wooden chair in the front yard of their Sussex home. Regis would read to him, wouldn’t he? What books? Fairytales? Pirate stories? Noctis couldn’t remember now… 

He remembered the pages. The ink on his father’s fingers. The sound of his father’s voice. But not the story. Not the petty morals written into children’s books to make an example. …Why couldn’t he remember?

Eventually, Ignis stopped. He tugged Noctis’s hair down as far as he could, displaying the cut Noctis used to have. Frayed wisps, long over the ears, sheared in the back. 

“How’s this, my lord, sir? The usual length.” 

Regis shook his head. “No. Not today. Go shorter.” 

Pressing his lips together, Ignis took off another fractional amount. “This?”

“No. Shorter.” 

“Sir, I believe the current style calls for some length around the sides—”

“I said, shorter, Mr. Scientia. Now, please.” 

Noctis shivered in his seat. He couldn’t feel his hair anymore. He hadn’t known that hair had a feeling until he finally grew it out. Now it was missing, like a phantom limb…

Every time Ignis stopped, Regis prodded him to keep going. 

“Shorter.”

…

“Shorter.”

…

“Come on, man, keep at it. To the scalp, I say.” 

It seemed to go on forever. 

The ordeal only ended when Regis allowed it. Finally, finally, he ordered Ignis to step away. 

Noctis’s head was cold. There were tiny bits of hair scratching his neck and the insides of his ears. It felt like being bald in wintertime—he didn’t want to open his eyes. As soon as he looked in the mirror this would all be real. The lovely hats, the hair pins, the gentle curl that kissed his shoulder…they’d be gone.

He’d managed to get through the whole haircut without shedding a tear. Keeping his eyes squeezed shut helped a lot. Once they were open…

“There, now.” Regis stood up from his chair. “Such dramatics! If you were born to a middle-class family they might send you to the theater, Noct.” He waved at the footmen. “Clean up all this mess. And Noct?” Regis opened the accounting book and made a mark. “I’m lowering your allowance to five thousand a month. You should be able to get by with that. Until you prove to me you can handle more."

Noctis said nothing. He needed to open his eyes sometime, that was an undeniable fact. What if he just avoided mirrors altogether until his hair grew back a little? Was that possible…? 

“Good day, Mr. Scientia.” 

“…Good day. Sir.” 

Ordinarily Regis might have paused at the unusual honorary Ignis gave him (a bit informal), but under the circumstances he said nothing. He walked out of the room and made for his private study. Presumably to get some work done. 

When Regis left, Noctis hung his head. He’d have to open his eyes now. He couldn’t just walk around blind. That was ridiculous!

“Noct…” Ignis laid his hands on Noctis’s shoulders. “I…I’m so sorry. …I tried. It’s…”

Noctis blinked at the sweaty hands in his lap. He’d just quickly look up and then head straight for the bath. He didn’t have to see what it looked like right now. Later. Later when he was calmer. Maybe in a week or a month or a year—

Shaking, Viola lifted her head. She intended to follow through with her plan, but…when she caught sight of a whiteish scalp in the glass, she stopped. There was a young boy in the mirror. Blinking stupidly back at her. A boy from the streets who’d just had a run-in with lice. Or else, a grown man who was fighting early onset baldness. 

There was less than an inch of stubbly black fuzz on her head. Nothing more. Ignis had tried to give her some length in the front, a tiny semblance of bangs, but. They stood straight up in the most boyish way. Shocked to have lost most of their length in so short a time. 

She was shorn.

Ugly. 

That’s when the tears came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more notes:  
> James Thomas Burdnell, known as Lord Cardigan, was [a real person famously known for bungling the Charge of the Light Brigade](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Brudenell,_7th_Earl_of_Cardigan) in the Crimean War, which had many historical consequences. Our girls here know what they're talking about ;) 
> 
> [The Oxford vs. Cambridge boat race](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Boat_Race) is also a real tradition, which continues to this day! 
> 
> Some things I want to point out: 1) You know those forms that ask what your gender is, male or female? Noctis checks off 'other' and writes in 'a cat's tail twitching back and forth capriciously.' Which I approve of :) :)  
> 2) We have an actual chapter count now!! O__O How the hell did that happen. I don't even know.  
> 3) I had to change the category for this story, from M/M to M/M and F/M. Seems right! 
> 
> You guys are the best people ever <3 I hope you know that ;)


	13. The boat race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where does the truth lie? How would you know it if you saw it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weirdfans (aka roundnround) [made some fan art that wrecked my heart even more](https://jeejascoffee.tumblr.com/post/172563533582/weirdfans-made-some-fanart-for-the-last-chapter) after the last chapter. The pain hurts but the art is so beautiful…T__T
> 
> Also, Xylien (aka darkness-ends) made [a manip of how Noctis looks with the short hair](https://78.media.tumblr.com/76ae7f991ecc6651641ca6beef35d857/tumblr_messaging_p6nyobqk881ufceyc_540.jpg). This is helpful because a lot of people were asking how short Noctis’s hair actually is now and….yeah. It’s that. 
> 
> Outfit notes: The dress. And [the bonnet](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/193584483958986079/). There are some minor changes added to the bonnet not in the picture, but I try to describe them in the story. 
> 
> So now, as far as this chapter goes? 
> 
> Brace for impact. (Super TW for transphobic shit and junk.)

**Chapter Thirteen: The boat race**

_Chiswick_  
_30 March, 1857  
_ _Friday - Evening_

Noctis laid in the bathtub. He’d gone straight there as soon as it was over. Ran the water by himself (something he’d learned to do in Engheld) and laid there soaking.

Maybe he could lay there forever. Completely still. Suspended in time. Alone. 

At this point, he did not know how long he’d been in the tub. His eyes were closed and his nose was the only thing sticking out of the water. 

Being submerged in the water was the only way Noctis could force out the strange sensation around his ears and down his neck. Or, more accurately, the _lack_ of sensation. When he was underneath the surface, buoyed on all sides by water, the only thing he could feel was wet. The slick awareness that came from being underwater. Calm, quiet rushing in his ears. Darkness if he kept his eyes closed. He could pretend that this morning, the dining room, had not happened. If he could not feel the damage then he did not have to face it.

His cold scalp. The prickly hair under his fingers. Noctis hadn’t worked up the nerve to actually touch it yet. He just laid there. Floating. Naked. Trying to feel free—was he free?

Were they free yet? When could they be free?

To be fair, they did not know real freedom. They had been living in secret for so long. Lies and the half-truths. Stealing seconds of comfort and sanity only to return to the brutal reality of Noctis Caelum.

That reality had never been more brutal than it was right at this moment. 

The only kind of freedom they ever knew was with Ardyn. He accepted them for who they were. At all times. Noctis or Viola. He showed them a different kind of living—living just because. Purposeless and wild. Not bound to any duty. Fun. Exciting. Dangerous. 

Loved. Ardyn loved them. He worshipped them last night, head to toe, and they reveled in him without fear. 

How could they ever face him again, looking like this—?

Tiny feelings broke through the barrier Noctis had tried to place around their heart and mind. There were so many parts to all this. Loss; they had lost something uniquely precious. Regret. Anger. Sadness. _Hatred._ The sense of _wrong_.

Everything was wrong. This was all wrong. _They_ were wrong. 

…Had they been wrong? Trying to live the truth inside their heart? Was that a mistake, something they should have abandoned from the start? The moment they saw Ardyn again in Hyde Park, they should have turned away. They should have gone to the luncheon with Luna and forgotten everything else. When he offered them the dress, they should have refused. They should have turned down the invitation to Steyliff, and to the ball. They should have—

No. Noctis opened his eyes underwater. He wouldn’t trade that night with Ardyn for the world. That night where he learned all of his lover’s secrets. Where they shared each other’s headspace for a night and a morning, moving as one complete thing. No matter how bad things got, Noctis would never wish he hadn’t done that.

These memories were a part of him now. Things that he would never—could never—take back. Ardyn played a big role. The way that man made him feel…yes, Noctis could not erase all that if he tried. The love ran too deep inside of him at this point. Who would he be without it?

…But Viola? Had Viola been a mistake?

Noctis sat up in the tub, letting water roll off his shoulders and chest. 

It was stupid to think it could have gone on forever. Viola. She was…she wasn’t real, was she? She was just a costume. Something that Noctis made up to make himself feel strong and sexy. Happy, and deserving of that happiness. 

But she wasn’t… Noctis curled in on himself. He brought his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs. Viola must have been a mistake. Allowing her into his life, this whole thing, wearing women’s clothes. Now Noctis felt destroyed over something as small as getting a haircut…he’d messed with his own head and let himself think—

Think what? That he could be…her? That he could be anything like what Viola was, what Noctis wanted to be? 

He felt her strength, her boldness and beauty, drifting away from him like a flower petal in a stiff breeze. He needed to let her go. To bury her, back in the part of himself where she’d been his whole life. 

A man could not live as a woman. It was way too dangerous and stupid to try. 

Even if it was…fun. It had been nice. Living that way. Like seeing the sky after days and days of fog and rain. Being Viola felt good, clear, and pure.

Now he felt kind of dirty. 

Maybe he’d just stay in the bath forever. Try to get himself clean. To wash away this feeling, this thing on the outside that he could not hide. Who he really was. 

Noctis’s eyes filled with tears again. He splashed himself with water as tears spilled down his cheeks. 

There came a knock at the door. Noctis flinched and hid himself in the water, covering his chest. Suddenly ashamed of his own body. He said nothing, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. 

Maybe he’d never speak again. He had a suspicion it would hurt to use his voice. To hear himself. His deep voice, another painful truth. 

“Noct, it’s me.” 

Oh, just Ignis. Noctis curled up tighter but didn’t make a move to stop his valet from coming in. Realistically, the best person to see him right now was Ignis. 

Ignis slid into the room quickly, barely opening the door so that no prying eyes might look in and spy Noctis in the bathtub. As soon as he saw Noctis, he let out a shaky breath. Between a whimper and a sigh. He immediately crossed the room and kneeled down on the tile next to the tub.

“Noct, I….” Ignis’s eyes were red. Bloodshot. Either from crying—which he hardly ever did—or from sheer stress. “…I can’t…” He shook his head sadly. “I’m so sorry.” 

Noctis lifted his head ever so slightly. His lips trembled when he laid eyes on Ignis. Like a little kid. He blubbered some more, slinking against the side of the tub and reaching his hands out to Ignis. He didn’t want to be seen, but. He wanted to hold Ignis’s hands. 

Those hands meant a great deal to him. After everything they’d been through together.

And for once, Ignis was not wearing his gloves. He clasped Noctis’s hands and held them tightly. Squeezing. Both in apology and in sympathy. Noctis couldn’t see himself—and he wouldn’t to—but his naked, frail body, (shorn head), must have made quite the pathetic sight. 

After a few moments breathing together, Ignis put his hand on Noctis’s wet shoulder. “Please, sir. Allow me to wash you a bit.” 

These were part of a valet’s regular duties. Ignis typically helped Noctis wash, especially his hair. Getting his hair washed usually helped Noctis feel better when he was in a foul mood for any reason. Ignis took pride in perfecting his technique. He wanted to be useful to his master in whatever way was needed. 

Now, he was needed more than ever.

Ignoring Noctis’s tears, Ignis retrieved a washcloth from the cupboard and passed it gently across his master’s chest. His shoulders, his back. Trying to soothe him. Wiping the back of Noctis’s neck a few times in the hopes that the sensation would help him calm down.

These caregiving hands. Ignis’s hands. Noctis loved them, always had. Why was his skin so horribly sensitive right now, though? The washcloth only made Noctis cry harder. But he didn’t want Ignis to stop either. 

Setting the washcloth down, Ignis lathered shampoo in his hands and made for Noctis’s scalp.

“No—!” Noctis flinched away when Ignis tried to touch his head. As if burned. Shrinking away from a flame.

“It’s alright,” the valet said quietly. “You need to wash it, Noct. Or the hairs will itch you horribly.” 

As soon as Ignis buried his hands in Noctis’s shorn hair, the young master broke into a sob. Now he could feel it—everything. How short it was. The inescapable truth that this is what he was meant to be, what he should have been all along. This thing. This…man. 

Ignis scrubbed Noctis’s scalp while he cried. “Shhh,” he murmured, hoping it would help. It did a little. Noctis wiped his tears and covered his mouth with one hand. Then he cried some more. A bit softer.

Ignis dunked bathwater over Noctis’s head. Washing away soap suds and the left over scraps of hair from his cut. 

“Let’s get out now.” 

Pulling Noctis to his feet, Ignis wrapped his lord in a towel. Holding him upright while Noctis cried into his shoulder. 

“Come. To bed with you.” 

He led him into the young lord’s bedroom, pulled back the sheets and helped Noctis lay down. 

“I’m…” Noctis tried to say, burrowing into the covers. “…I’m so stupid, Iggy. I should never have…” He squeezed his eyes closed. Not entirely sure what he was saying. It felt like he was spilling over, all the anguish and regret rushing out because he couldn’t keep it in anymore. 

“…I fucked up.”

“Hush.” Ignis pulled the blankets up to Noctis’s chin. “Don’t say anything right now. Just rest.”

He wanted to say it would be better in the morning, but perhaps it wouldn’t.

______________________________

_Chiswick_  
_1 April, 1857  
_ _Sunday - Morning_

Noctis had difficulty rising for the next few days. Awareness meant he needed to face the reality of who he was, what he needed to do. Blackness and sleep were so much easier.

Now Noctis understood why Ardyn did this all the time. 

However, one full day in bed was all Noctis’s body could handle. After that, he was far too restless to stay cooped up. He tossed and turned, his depression turning to anger and frustration. Until he could not stand his own presence and just needed _out_.

He threw on some clothes and headed out to the paddocks. Quartz was waiting for him, as steadfast as ever. Hooves stomping with the want to be ridden.

“Hey, man,” Noctis wrapped his arms around Quartz’s neck. Tears sprang to his sore eyes again. He’d missed his horse so much. Hardly any time to ride during the winter. “Sorry I’ve been away for so long.”

Quartz whinnied indignantly.

Riding astride felt weird now. The last time Noctis had ridden, it was sidesaddle. Now he bobbed up and down like a man. No skirts around his legs. 

But when he closed his eyes, he pictured Swallowfield. Viola’s riding clothes about his waist. The clear wide open countryside surrounding him. A place of freedom—a place where they could finally breathe. 

That ride. In the middle of nowhere on a horse Noctis didn’t even know. That ride was true freedom. Noctis thought he could taste it.

Sadly, riding around the estate was nothing like riding in the Berks. Behind Noctis loomed the Citadel, palatial and dark. An unforgettable burden. The estate Regis wanted Noctis to have—was practically forcing into his hands! The keys to the kingdom…the one thing Noctis could never imagining holding. How could he stand where Regis stood? How would he ever be a true lord? How could he look over the fields of the estate, green and luscious, and tell himself this is what he wanted?

How could he pretend for the rest of his life? Could it even be done…?

He slowed Quartz down to a walk. The ride somehow made him more depressed.

—————————-

Noctis could not face his father again. There was nothing to say. Noctis didn’t think he could ever have a real conversation with the man again. Not knowing what Regis was capable of—that look. The look in his father’s eyes when he heard Aulea’s name. He looked almost fragile for a moment. Then his eyes hardened immeasurably until he was nothing but anger. Cold rage. 

Noctis didn’t know how deep his father’s rage went. Where it turned to pain. Pain for Aulea. But he didn’t want to think about that either. He was far too angry, too ashamed. Regis had shamed him by forcing him to get a haircut like Noctis was five years old again. 

Father and son were not on speaking terms. A mutual silence this time.

All the servants knew the story by now. It was hard enough for Noctis to walk through the estate, knowing the servants were looking at him. Entirely aware of why Noctis looked so terrible. Why is hair was shorter than it had ever been. How his father had…taken Noctis in hand like an unruly schoolboy. 

It was humiliating. And there was no way to hide, because Noctis’s shield—the hair that he could have used to cover his sore eyes and tear-stained face—was gone.

Unfortunately, Noctis didn’t need to speak to Regis to know what his father expected of him. Regis wanted Noctis to hurry up and ask Lunafreya to accompany him to the Boat Race. The race was that Thursday, the fifth. Time was running out and of course Noctis needed to make up for lost engagements.

He wondered if Regis knew Noctis Caelum had not danced with Lunafreya at the ball. Maybe that’s what fueled his rage so awfully. However Noctis could soundly say Regis did not know how Luna had chosen to spend her time at the ball instead. If he did…well the truth was to scandalize to imagine, wasn’t it?

Good for Luna.

Noctis needed to speak with her anyway. He should go to her and…

And…

….and what? Would he ask for her hand, right then and there? Or prolong the inevitable by asking for her to accompany him to the boat race?

Notis felt sick to his stomach. He needed to lie down. He needed not to think about the mess of things that were expected of him. He needed…

…Fuck, he missed Ardyn. In his heart, Noctis longed to be held. He missed Ardyn at night, his body missed him. His tattooed arms, his sweaty chest. The black sun. His eyes, his lips, his face, his hair….

Noctis knew what he really wanted. He wanted his man. His lover. The man who could kiss all this pain away and make Noctis feel loved—

He wanted Ardyn. But. What would Ardyn say when he saw him? Would he rear back in disgust at the ugly, boyish picture Noctis made right now? What would he say when Noctis told him that Regis made him cut his hair. Would he think Noctis a child? A weakling? Ardyn had survived twelve years of hard prison time; Noctis couldn’t even stand up to his own father about something as simple as a haircut—

No. Noctis was too ashamed to face Ardyn. Not like this. 

Beyond that, Noctis didn’t want to be Viola anymore. Would Ardyn still love him if he knew…? 

He threw himself down onto the bed and tried to sleep. This time, night offered him no release. Not even sleep granted him peace of mind. In his dreams he was running. Endlessly running. With something terrifying and nameless chomping at his heels. He ran until he was tired and then he woke up frightened. Adrenaline pumping.

No rest.

———————

On Monday morning, Noctis woke up to find Ignis sitting in the chair next to his bed. He started, not sued to seeing his friend enter without permission. Even they did not cross that boundary. Usually.

Ignis’s face was drawn. Grey, almost. Deathly serious.

“Iggy, what….?”

“Are you alright, sir?” Ignis’s voice was hoarse. It was obvious he had not been sleeping well himself. Noctis had never really seen Ignis this way before. 

But Noctis was not alright. Every time Noctis looked in the mirror, he felt like he might vomit. Or else he wanted to run and take a bath. The filthy feeling permeated deeper than skin. 

“I’m…” Noctis ran a hand through his short spiky hair. He wanted to lean over the bed and retch. He wanted to get up out of this bed and walk out of the world. He wanted to rewind time and make it so that he had never been born. He wanted…

He wanted to go home. His real home. The house of the fallen. The place where they could be free.

Ignis nodded. It looked like he didn’t need any explanation. He uncrossed his legs and sat closer to Noctis. They had moved past the point where Ignis regularly begged for forgiveness of what he’d done, Noctis assured him time and time again that he was not in the wrong. But even so, Ignis wore his gloves at all times now. As if sickened by the sight of his own hands.

Noctis didn’t know how to fix that either. 

But Ignis looked calmer today. Resigned. Worn down. He lowered his voice and asked, “Will you be going to Engheld today, sir?” 

Noctis hadn’t expected his valet to say that. Of all things. Suggesting he go see Ardyn when he was in enough trouble as it was—

“No. I don’t think so.” 

“Ah.” Ignis wet his lips and looked away for a moment. When he looked back, his eyes were focused. Determined. “I think perhaps you should.” 

Silence hung heavily in the air. Noctis closed his eyes and tried not to shiver. The shiver inside of him…was it from fear or self-hatred? He couldn’t tell the difference. 

He knew Ignis was right. Noctis needed to be with people that understood him right now. He needed Engheld.

“But…” Pain swelled in Noctis’s chest. His embarrassment. “…how can I, Ig? He won’t want me when I’m…” 

Noctis didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Ardyn wouldn’t want him when he was ugly? Or no longer Viola? Or weak? Or…sad? He’d never shown any of these sides to Ardyn before so he just didn’t know!

He shook his head hard.

Silent, Ignis sat down on the bed next to his master. “That’s not true, Noct. You know it isn’t. Ardyn loves you. I don’t doubt that for a second. The way he looks at you…” 

The words echoed in Noctis’s ears. He knew. He _knew._ Ardyn’s eyes sparkled when Noctis was around. When they shared a glance or a kiss, even in front of other people. Not just in bed, but all the time.

He knew Ardyn would still love him.

Biting his lip hard, Noctis let himself ask the real question: Did he deserve that love? When he was…like this?

“I can’t.” Noctis dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What if he…” 

There was no finishing that sentence. Even the idea was too scary for Noctis to imagine. _What if Ardyn turned him away?_ Fuck, Noctis would rather sever all ties and never see his lover again rather than go through all that. 

“He _won’t_.” Ignis put a hand on Noctis’s shoulder. He shook his head gently, entirely assured of his words. “He won’t, Noct. He’s not that kind of man.” Ignis glanced to the side and readjusted his glasses. “I can’t very well say what type of man he _is_ , but…”

Why was this the scariest part of all? The idea that Ardyn might see him and love him anyway? Because of Ardyn did that—

—How would Noctis ever be able to leave him? He’d be latched into Ardyn permanently. No hope of farce. Fake weddings or dull lies to his father. If Ardyn accepted Noctis like _this_ , then…

Then what they had together was the world. 

Ignis touched Noctis chin, prodding the younger man to look up at him. “Go to him. I must ask you to, sir, because…I cannot _stand_ to see you like this.” Ignis’s eyes watered. “You deserve to be loved the way that he loves you.” 

That clarity. The fact that Ignis could see their relationship so clearly. It made Noctis want to weep with a mixture of happiness and guilt. Everything was so wrong and yet…Ignis knew the truth.

If Ignis knew it, then it must be so. 

Slowly, very, very slowly, Noctis nodded his head. Ignis was right. He needed to go to Engheld. He needed to tell Ardyn what happened so that they could…move on. Together. 

Trying to be strong, to steal himself against the ultimate fear inside him, Noctis wrapped his arms around Ignis in an adoring hug. He didn’t quite know how to thank Ignis for saying that about him—something he’d never expected to hear about a love as unconventional as his and Ardyn’s, from anyone! So he just hugged him. For quite a while.

Steadied by the warmth from Ignis’s slim body, Noctis pulled back a bit. “I can’t take…Nyx isn’t…” The words were getting all mixed up. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I shouldn’t take the carriage to Kingston. I don’t want anyone knowing where I am.” 

Ignis nodded immediately. “Of course, sir. I’ll handle all that. You just get ready.” 

They shared one more hug before they went into motion. Noctis dressed quickly (he was getting rather adept at dressing himself these days, in both men and women’s clothes, save the corset which was always a two-person job). When he was semi-presentable, Ignis fit his overcoat over Noctis’s shoulders. Then the top hat on his head. Dressing his master like old times. 

With the top hat on his head, covering most of the damage from the haircut, Noctis could actually stand the sight of himself in the mirror without retching. For about seven seconds, anyway. A noticeable improvement. 

“Ready, sir?”

“…Yeah.” 

Ignis led Noctis down the back staircase. Towards the servants quarters. Noctis did his best to hold his head up high as he went downstairs, prepared to face an onslaught of servants. Staring and whispering. 

But instead, there was no one. Except at the very end of the corridor, near the servants’ side entrance, was Gladiolus. 

“Gladio!” Noctis ran to his friend.

“Hey kiddo.” Gladiolus smiled and squeezed Noctis’s shoulder with one bear paw-sized hand. 

They hadn’t spoken since before the incident in the dining room. Noctis was sort of embarrassed to talk to Gladiolus for similar reasons; he was ashamed that he’d been cut down to size by his father. He thought Gladiolus would judge him for that, and a myriad of other things they really just didn’t speak of when they were around each other—

But in that moment Gladiolus looked happy for him. No trace of disapproval in his scarred face.

“Be careful, yeah?” Gladiolus advised. He pulled Noctis into a lopsided hug and opened the door. 

Before they could say anything else, Ignis was rushing his master outside. “I’ve taken the liberty of…persuading the servants to be elsewhere at the moment.” As he had the first time Noctis wore a dress. “…but we must hurry. Gladiolus called a hansom for you already.” 

The cabbie was waiting by the front gate. Ignis whisked Noctis into the back and promptly paid the driver (presumably with his own money). They were hoping to avoid any prying eyes. 

Noctis honestly didn’t even want Regis to know he had left the house. Nonetheless any other pertinent information. He wanted to take this hansom can and disappear. 

“Give them my best,” Ignis murmured.

He did not need to specify whom. 

__________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_2 April, 1857  
_ _Monday - Morning_

This time the cabbie took Noctis right to Engheld’s front gate. Ulldor came out promptly when they saw the hansom pull up. 

With the top hat, Noctis’s appearance was not terribly different. When his hair was long, he wore it tied up in a tight bun and kept the bun underneath his hat. It sort of had the same effect when he pulled the hat down to his ears and pretended like nothing was wrong.

Maybe he’d just leave his hat on for a while. Like a weirdo. Give himself some time to relax before he dove into an explanation for Ardyn…

Then. Waiting for him in the doorway as always, was the man himself. Ardyn stood with one arm propped against the doorframe. Casual and calm. He was a little more in the shadows than usual. Safety precaution, probably, against anyone who might be watching from outside. Still, he had his typical air about him. Not the deep depression he’d carried last time they were together. 

Noctis’s heart lurched. He broke out into a cold sweat. He was scared and excited at the same time. 

Ardyn. 

Those golden eyes. Glowing as they looked at him.

His nerves worked into a frenzy and Noctis sped up the pace. By the time he reached the house, he was already running. And he ran straight into Ardyn’s arms like a little child.

“Mmmm…” Noctis choked out a moan when he felt Ardyn’s arms around him. This body. He pressed his face into Ardyn’s shoulder and tried to shut out the rest of the world. The impending sense of doom in his stomach.

“There you are, my dear,” Ardyn hummed. He pulled the younger man inside. “I wasn’t expecting you this early. But it’s such a nice treat…”

Noctis refused to show Ardyn his face. He didn’t want to move from this spot. He just wanted to stay buried. Inhaling Ardyn’s scent. Warm. Even though he felt like he was hanging on the edge of a knife, about to fall into the dark abyss of the truth.

Now that they were inside, Ardyn reached for Noctis’s hat. It was a natural gesture—a man took his hat off when he went indoors. And Ardyn was holding Noctis, so he currently had a face full of stiff black silk from the hat. He thought nothing of doing this—

But Noctis gasped and pulled away when he felt Ardyn’s touch. He was about to reveal…! He yanked the hat further down his head, hoping to hide the hacked-up mess underneath. Sensing Ardyn’s confusion, he lowered his eyes. It was too much to make eye contact right now.

Ardyn went motionless. Cautious, hands in midair, still poised to take Noctis’s hat. He narrowed his eyes, sensing the distress dripping from the younger man’s every pore. Some of the light left his face as Ardyn realized there was something going on. Something that had Noctis upset. 

Noctis being upset was serious business for the older man.

“What’s wrong…?” Ardyn took a step forward, opening his arms if Noctis wanted to come closer.

Here came the tears. Noctis thought he was doing alright—he hadn’t cried at all yet that day!—but then Ardyn reached for him. Offering an embrace like a port in a storm…it brought the tears on fast. 

“Ah, miss!” Aranea tramped into the foyer. She was drying her hands on a dish towel and she looked radiant with purpose. “I thought we’d head to tailor’s today for that bit of ribbon—oh.” Her face immediately fell when she saw the tears in Noctis’s eyes. “Oh no. Sweetie, what happened?” 

There it was. The kindness from his big sister. Noctis started breathing heavily. He was getting overwhelmed…he just wanted to collapse right there on the floor and tell them everything!

Aranea tried to catch Ardyn’s eye for some type of explanation, but Ardyn’s gaze was fixed on Noctis. Intense, boring into him. Trying to figure out the problem. 

“Tell us, Noct,” he said softly. “Tell me.” 

So. He couldn’t hide it anymore. The secret had lasted less than a minute, which he should have expected. These people knew him too well. Of course they would see when something wasn’t right. 

But there really weren’t any words to explain. So, Noctis silently brought his hands to his hat. He tugged the brim, afraid to go any further for a moment. Then he just did it. 

He let the hat fall to the ground.

Aranea’s gasp was audible. Loud, sucking the air out of the room. When Noctis dared to look at her—feeling more naked than he ever had in her presence—her face was riddled with shock. Turning redder by the second. She gripped the dish towel with all her might. (…Noctis couldn’t look at Ardyn just yet.)

“That…four-eyed… _butcher_!” Aranea threw the towel onto the floor. “I’ll kill him! I’ll…absolutely _kill_ him—”

“No, no…” Noctis waved his hands tiredly. “It wasn’t Ignis’s fault. My dad made him. He made me, too…” 

It sounded so terribly pathetic when Noctis said it like that. Having to admit that his father basically owned him, brought him to task…not the best thing to say to a lover. Besides, Regis hadn’t actually held Noctis down and forced him to have his hair cut. He hadn’t really done much of anything other than threaten. To demand that Noctis do it, one way or the other. Somehow that had been enough. Regis was just…like that. He commanded people that way.

Noctis looked weakly over at Ardyn, knowing he couldn’t avoid it forever. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but…

Ardyn’s face was slack. He looked _pissed_. Not the killing rage he had shown Threshton in Steyliff, mingled with jealousy. No. This was…quietly furious. His eyebrows twitched a few times. Then Ardyn walked over to Noctis with an aura that would not let anyone escape.

He stood in front of Noctis and gently gripped the young man’s chin. While Noctis sniffled, Ardyn turned Noctis’s face from side to side. Surveying him. Analyzing the extent of the damage. Taking in every last detail.

Nothing left to hide. Noctis felt bared to the winds.

Ardyn’s eyes darkened for a moment. Lost to anger. Then, little by little, his face broke out into sympathy. A sincere, shared pain. Tasting a bit of what this haircut had done to Noctis. Realizing what his lover had been through alone the past few days. 

Slowly, the anger was replaced by commiseration. He curled his arm around Noctis’s waist and pulled him close.

“My beautiful girl,” Ardyn rumbled. “What have they done to you?” 

That was it. Viola burst out sobbing. She gripped Ardyn’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. His loving palms. Rough and sturdy. Wiping away her tears with one thumb.

Suddenly Noctis felt like Viola again. As soon as Ardyn said it, he felt it. Regardless of what he looked like right now, Noctis felt like a woman there in Ardyn’s hands. That piece of himself he had tried to bury…it was no use. No matter how far down he pushed Viola, she was still there. Indomitable. She might be silent when he tried really hard, but she would never fully disappear.

Because she was him. They were one in the same. Cutting Viola out was not as easy as cutting his hair. He could not be rid of her any easier than he could be rid of his own breath. 

She was him. He was her.

Yes, sometimes it was easier to think of themselves as two separate people sharing one body. But that wasn’t entirely true. Noctis was always Viola and she was always him. It’s just…there were times when he _felt_ like a woman. When he knew he was a woman, inside and out. And then there were other times…times when it felt alright to just be Noctis. It was easier to be Noctis when he wasn’t pushing away Viola. When he felt at peace with her—with the part of himself that was a woman—Noctis could comfortably exist in his own skin. 

Right now, they felt like a woman. Ardyn made them feel that way. They hadn’t thought they would feel like this again, not when they were so ugly, but. Being seen made it happen. 

Ardyn saw her. He knew she was there, underneath everything else. 

And he still loved her. That much had not changed. 

She collapsed into his arms and let him hold her. 

“It’s alright, my love,” Ardyn rumbled. His voice vibrating inside his chest. “You’re home now.”

They were. There in Ardyn’s arms, they were home. At last.

Aranea dashed off to the back rooms and almost immediately returned. Wearing her outdoors hat and carrying a small handbag. She passed by Noctis and put her hands on his shoulders.

He smiled at her. “…Sorry about the boat race, Aranea. I know you were excited about the dress.”

Aranea shook her head. Staunchly refusing to give up. “Don’t act like anything has changed, alright? And don’t worry. I’ll find something for you. I know what’ll work.” 

She gave Noctis’s hair another pitiful glance and then ran out the door. Covering her mouth as if she was too upset to say any more. It made sense. After all, she had spent so much time styling Viola’s hair. That was where she took the greatest pride in her work. 

When they were alone, Ardyn regarded Noctis again. “Are you alright, though? Otherwise?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Trying to pull himself together, Noctis rubbed his eyes and sniffed hard. “It’s just been like…a weird couple of days.” 

“Mmm. Well let’s see what we can do, shall we? Come on.” 

So Ardyn led him upstairs. Like Noctis had done for him on a number of occasions before. This time, Ardyn took the reigns and brought his hot mess of a lover to their bedroom. 

Just being in the room made Noctis feel better. He laid down on the bed, still fully clothed. It just felt so normal being there. He’d had some of the best nights of his life on this bed. 

Ardyn took his shirt off and laid down next to him. “Here, darling, allow me.” Gently—almost exactly as Noctis had shown him when their roles were reversed—Ardyn began undressing him. Piece by piece. Coat, shirt, cravat, pants, shoes, socks. Underthings. Until Noctis was completely naked.

It was such a relief. Being naked. Like releasing a deep breath. Taking off the costume at last. Down to nothing but his own skin.

Ardyn kissed his way up and down Noctis’s body. Tiny pecks to his chest and to his stomach. Little signs of adoration. The look on his face was pure confidence. Excitement. He did not look angry anymore—that was gone, and thank goodness. Noctis didn’t know what he would have done if Ardyn flew off the handle and spent all this time being pissed off at however this was done (even though the older man was just possessive enough that it made sense). That is not what Noctis needed right now.

He needed this. Touches. Kisses. 

Ardyn reached into the chifforobe drawer and pulled out a white pair of lady’s stockings and a rosy garter belt. Grinning, he held up the articles to Noctis and reached for his foot. Ready to put them on right away.

Yes… Noctis thought. He loved those stockings. They made him feel so incredibly sexy….

But…hadn’t he decided he wouldn’t do this anymore?

“Ardyn, wait.” He had one foot in the silk. “I…shouldn’t, probably.” He rubbed his forehead, unsure how to explain how utterly conflicted he was. “I shouldn’t…pretend to be a woman anymore…” 

Ardyn paused. He gazed at Noctis for long moment, then kissed the inside of Noctis’s thigh. “Hm. But _are_ you pretending?”

….

Noctis didn’t know what to say to that. Was he? Was Viola just an act, when she felt so much like a part of him that had always been there? Ever since he was a kid, even before? As long as Noctis could remember Viola was there. He just didn’t know what to call that part of him, so he tried to ignore it. Tried to fit in with everyone else. It hadn’t worked out so well. 

“Come on, pick your legs up.” 

Wordlessly, Noctis lifted his legs so Ardyn could roll up the rest of the stockings. He whimpered when the garters came on, loving the way they looked on his thighs. 

Ardyn went into the chifforobe again (Noctis reached for him forlornly, wishing Ardyn would stop moving for five seconds and just take him in his arms.) He retrieved a few items Noctis hadn’t been expecting. One was the necklace he’d worn to the ball—white rose cameo and metal filigree—and the other was the pair of long satin evening gloves he’d worn in Steyliff Grove. They were pieces of Viola. Artifacts. Things that Noctis had built that whole part of his identity with. 

Ardyn swept the necklace around Noctis’s throat. Clasping it in the back with an expert hand. He rolled the elbow-length gloves all the way up, making sure there were no wrinkles left behind. Adorning Noctis like a mannequin.

He appraised his work when he was finished. “Ah. Now. There she is. At last.” 

Noctis looked down at his body. At their body. It looked like how he remembered and he felt…God, how was he supposed to feel? Looking like this? Done up like a lady but with his most intimate parts exposed? It was raunchy and hot, it turned him on like nothing else. But it was also…right. 

He felt like himself again.

“Ardyn…” Noctis closed his eyes and felt up his arms. Where the skin met the silk. “…what am I?” 

Such a question.

“Hmm?” Ardyn picked Noctis up by the waist and promptly placed him in his lap. Back to chest. A comfortable position for them. “What do you mean? You are whatever it is you’d like to be.” 

“No, but I mean…” Noctis settled into his seat. Spreading his legs out to the side so he could fit on Ardyn’s lap. Aware of how shameless that was, unable to do anything else. “… _what_ am I? Why do I feel…like this? Like I’m not what I’m supposed to be?” 

Ardyn inched them towards the end of the bed, angling their bodies to the side. Noctis knew where they were facing—dear god no!—and he kept his eyes closed. 

“And what are you supposed to be, Noct?” 

“I don’t know. A man. Like, a regular one. A Lord, I guess?” 

Ardyn chuckled. His hands roamed across the expanse of Noctis’s flat stomach and thighs. “Well. That’s as good of a guess as any, I suppose, but. Not all of us can be so lucky.”

He propped Noctis up. Oh no, Noctis knew what was coming! He couldn’t…not yet!

“Why are you so worried with what you are?” Ardyn kissed the side of his head. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with how you feel?” 

How he felt? Right now he was scared. Scared as hell because he knew what Ardyn was going to say next—

“I’m looking at you now, darling. I can see every _inch_ of you.” Ardyn was purring in Noctis’s ear. Making him shiver from head to toe. “And you. Are. _Beautiful_. Oh yes, as beautiful as any lady and even more than that. Limitless, infinite. You are the only woman I’ll ever need and just the man I want. You are…perfect.” 

Noctis gasped. His heart stuttered. The word—why was there so much baggage attached to that word? _Perfect_? How could Noctis be anywhere near that, _flawless_ , when he felt only so-so on the best of days?

“Mm, it’s true. Don’t try to change my mind.” There was a curl of a smile in Ardyn’s voice, but he was being absolutely serious. “You are perfect. Just like this. Naked and pretty in my arms. That’s how I would keep you, forever, if only I could.” 

Ardyn combed his fingers into Noctis’s stubbly hair. Rubbing the scalp underneath. It didn’t feel as good when his hair wasn’t so long. In fact it made Noctis shiver with self-hatred. Disgust. Thinking that all of this was a lie—

“Whatever you have up here on your head….” Ardyn also thumbed the swollen cock in Noctis’s lap. “Or down here. It doesn’t matter. You’ll always be perfect in my eyes. Do you understand?” 

Now Noctis felt like crying again. He pressed himself closer to Ardyn, threading their fingers together. Squeezing like his life depended on it.

“Open your eyes, Noct,” Ardyn whispered. “See for yourself.” 

That’s what Noctis was afraid of—he knew if he opened his eyes he would be assaulted by the sight of himself. Everything all at once. 

He shook his head weakly. “I don’t want to…” 

“Now, now. Don’t be like that.” 

Ardyn wrapped his thumb and forefinger around Noctis’s cock. Stroking him delicately. Just enough to get Noctis good and hungry. Salivating in the older man’s lap. Nipples twitching, begging to be touched. Groaning.

“Open your eyes, Viola. Do it for me.” 

“I can’t…”

“Yes you can. I’m here. And you’re perfect. My perfect girl. Go on…” 

Every time Ardyn said that word Noctis flinched. He couldn’t fight. Not like this! When Ardyn had him by the dick, dressed in his favorite things, whispering all the love in the world into his ear! 

So, just once. A quick look…and then…

Noctis cracked his eyes open. Sure enough, just as he suspected, the full-length mirror was propped up right in front of the bed. Capturing Noctis in all his glory, and Ardyn behind him. 

Too scary. Noctis didn’t want to see himself when he was this vulnerable, this much of a mess. Unsure of anything anymore…

“That’s it. Just a little more, love. Keep going."

But Ardyn kept prompting him. Teasing his cock. Goading him. So Noctis had no choice. He opened his eyes bit by bit until…he was staring head-on into the mirror. 

The picture came into focus. All of Noctis’s private, hard, wet parts. His flat chest. His short hair. His smooth, hairless skin. The white from the stockings and the gloves, and the white rose in the hollow of his throat. Making his pale flesh look creamy by comparison. 

“Ah. Don’t you see?” Ardyn stroked the side of Noctis’s face. They could track the movement in the mirror. “Look how beautiful you are.” 

Noctis knew he looked like a mess! He had to, right? Bloodshot eyes and costume jewelry…except, when Ardyn said it like that, it was a little easier to believe that maybe Noctis was…pretty. Not beautiful, not perfect by a long shot, but. Attractive. In a certain way. 

…Appealing. Maybe. 

“Tell me, dear. How do you feel right at this moment.?”

Noctis’s eyes were locked on the mirror now. He couldn’t look away. Not when he was seeing—for the first time in days—something that didn’t make him feel dirty and sick. Something that he could…live with, even if he didn’t have to love it head to toe. He could live with the person he saw staring back at him right now.

That was more than enough. A glimpse of joy. Peaking through the clouds.

“I feel…” 

“Don’t you feel beautiful, Miss Gainsborough?” Ardyn stroked Noctis faster. He reached around to massage the fleshy parts of his lover’s ass. 

“I’m…” She liked the way her legs looked right now. The garters were such a compliment! And the gloves made her arms appear long and dainty. 

Her cock was red and hard. Leaking at the tip. It looked so natural in Ardyn’s hand. Quite the sight. She liked it.

And of course, the necklace. Framing her neck so that every time she took a breath, her throat was adorned in flower accoutrements. Elegant, she would say. Pretty.

“I’m pretty…” Viola said hesitantly. Her voice was small, but distinctly hers.

“You’re a beautiful woman. Say it, go ahead. You’ll feel much better when you do.” Ardyn stuck his finger inside Viola’s cunt, stretching it. Preparing her slowly. 

“I’m…a…” Ardyn’s finger hurt a little as it opened her. But. She liked feeling him inside of her. Accepting her.

The idea that Ardyn would accept her like this…Ardyn loved her enough to put up with a boyish face dressed in silks. That meant he accepted her no matter what.

And of course. That meant the world.

“I’m a beautiful woman…!” Viola gasped when she said it. So scandalous, coming from her mouth! 

But,it felt…so good! She shook her hips, riding Ardyn’s fist. Very near to climax all of a sudden—

“There’s my good girl. Now.” To her disappointment, Ardyn pulled his hand away and tapped her on the ass. A signal that it was time to get up. “Go stand with your hands on the mirror.” 

She did as she was told. Sticking her ass out enough to give him access. 

Ardyn fished a bottle of lubricant out of his shirt pocket. He spread some on his fingers and said, “Well then. I’m going to fuck you absolutely boneless. Until you feel beautiful inside and out. And you’re going to tell me how perfect you are all the while. Understood?”

Viola bit her lip. The promise of sex made her so wet her fluids dripped onto the floor. She nodded.

Ardyn’s eyes flashed in the mirror. “Good. I’m glad you’re being honest with me. Best keep it that way.” He smirked. “Or else I might have to spank you again.”

____________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_3 April, 1857  
_ _Tuesday - Evening_

Noctis was never leaving Engheld.

Nope. Not anymore. Not when he could lie with Ardyn all night and into the morning, fuck into the daytime and then…once more have all night together. A perfect world like that? There was no force on heaven or earth that could have moved Noctis from that old Lucis house.

Let Regis sit alone and wonder where his son had gone. Noctis couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He realized now that he needed to stop caring so much about what he needed to do and more about what he felt was right. The other path—pretending until he went insane from repressed desire—was death. 

In the words of Blake, “Those who restrain desire do so because it is easy enough to be restrained.” Wise words. And Noctis was done restraining himself. Restraining _them_. 

So he stayed. Monday night into Tuesday. On Tuesday he and Aranea brought up the subject of the boat race. She wanted to convince her mistress that the race must go on—they’d already bought the dress and everything! It was even fitted! And the dress was lovely. It fit perfectly. 

Plus, springtime and tradition and all that. Viola simply must proceed as planned and go to the race!

Of course, Viola wanted to say yes. She’d been looking forward to going! Her dress was off-white linen—ah, spring at last! Linen dresses—with soft red and blue flowers running all over the garment. The red and blue mixed well enough to give the appearance of subdued lavender, when in fact the only colors were red, blue, and white. Not to mention the hat. Straw hats were all the rage these days! Viola had picked out a straw hat with baby’s breath and roses lining the crown. She planned to wear a thick cranberry-colored ribbon around her waist. To bring out the vivacity of the roses. 

She’d been so excited for the straw hat. But now…

Still, Aranea insisted her mistress attend! On her excursion, she bought three things: More cranberry ribbon, lace, and a bonnet. The bonnet was a bit…old fashioned. Sort of dowdy. All the fashionable women would be wearing hats. But the bonnet Aranea found was made of straw with a wide, spoon brim. That increased its stylishness by a small margin. More than that, the straw bonnet had red berries and baby’s breath pinned to the side. Reminiscent of the hat Viola liked, except…slightly different.

“A little bit of work and this will be perfect for you, miss!” 

Aranea suggested that she sew some of the ribbon around the back of the bonnet. Make it look as if it were meant to match the dress. And, she argued, lace could be sewn into the inner brim of the bonnet. Right near the hairline. Detracting the eye from the dismal looking bangs Viola was sporting these days. Furthermore, Aranea would sew some long pieces of lace along the bottom as a sort of impromptu coverlet. Another visual trick to give the appearance of length.

“That’s a lot of work, Aranea,” Noctis rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Are you sure you want to do all that?”

“Of course!” Aranea seemed offended he would even ask! “It would be terrible if you couldn’t go to the boat race just because of what happened.” She wouldn’t give it a name. She was still in mourning for Viola’s lost locks. “So we should work with what we have.” 

Her eyes twinkled. “You’re still a beautiful woman, Miss Gainsborough. You should play to your strengths. Naturally.” 

Viola blushed. It was a compliment any lady’s maid might give her mistress, but. That time…a few nights ao, Ardyn made Viola say those exact words as he fucked her. The memories were still fresh in her mind. That made it just a little bit embarrassing.

It didn’t help that Ardyn was on the settee grinning like a tom cat as they discussed this. 

Drawing attention away from herself, Viola asked, “Are you coming with me to the race, Ardyn?”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Mmm….” He thought for a moment. His feud withIedolas had gone entirely unsettled. All the reasons he had for staying indoors were still valid. 

Except, Ardyn was getting bored. Boredom was the kiss of death for a man like him. As soon as he got bored, he started looking for ways to fill his time. In prison, and later in Victoria, this meant mixing with the lowest of the low and running a racket of some kind. Here it just meant Ardyn was willing to be a little more reckless than he normally should be. 

“If I’m going then you _definitely_ have to go,” Viola stated. “You didn’t come to the garden party, so you owe me one anyway.” Not that there was any such tally, but it sounded fair to the ears. “Besides, it’s the first real outdoors event of the Season! Everyone will be there. We’ll blend in with the crowd.”

Ardyn wanted to point out that no matter how many people were there, he and Viola would stand out like two violets in a field of daisies. They had an unfortunate knack for that. 

And yet, neither of them could deny the kind of excitement they derived from being the center of attention. The Eckhart’sball proved that much.

“You should send for Specs,” Aranea added. “Have him dress you for the race, Izunia. Make you look presentable again. He did a hell of a job last time, right?” 

Ardyn scratched his head. Another grand little outing? He’d thought they were finished with these…

He turned to Viola for the final vote. There in his love’s eyes was that familiar sparkle. The thrill of an outing. That same gleam he found so addictive. The flair she carried about herself when she was truly happy. This is exactly what had gotten them here in the first place.

How could Ardyn say no to her when she was like this?

“If my lady commands.” He gave a foppish half-bow in Viola’s direction. “Then I suppose I must go, shan’t I?” 

Viola beamed at him. Delighted. 

So. They were doing this.

________________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_5 April, 1857  
_ _Thursday - Morning_

“It’s like I used to tell Miss Shaw,” Aranea mused, fluffing Viola’s linen skirts. “Whatever we don’t like and can’t change? Cover it up with lace.” 

Viola tugged self-consciously on the coverlet her lady’s maid had sewn into the bonnet. It looked nice. And it reached her shoulders. More than enough to hide the lack of hair in the back. But Viola had a score of irrational fears about it still. What if the wind blew just right and people saw underneath? If the lace flapped in the breeze then she’d be exposed…

“If the wind blows hard like that, all the ladies are going to be worried about keeping their hats on straight. No one’s going to be looking at you,” Aranea countered. Accurate enough. “Besides, it would have to be a hell of a strong wind to knock straw the other way round.” 

These were both good points. More than that, Viola actually…liked the bonnet. The straw went so well with the linen! Such a seasonal look, as anticipated. And the cranberry ribbon was literally exactly the same as the one around her waist. When people looked at her head-on, they would see a pretty face framed in straw, lace, and ribbon. Some black bangs poking out, just above her eyes. Aranea made a point to try and pin them to the side so they just looked swept, instead of short. 

It worked. The entire thing really worked.

And needless to say, Viola loved the dress. Such light linen! She needed to wear cage crinoline, but that was not the point of this dress. It was all about being airy and free. The material rustled against the cage as she moved. Such an alluring sound! Like a siren’s call to men who were eager to be in the company of woman.

And of course, also quite needless to say, Ardyn thought Viola looked marvelous. He told her as much, fingering the ribbon around her waist that gave her such a slim appearance. Dainty and lovely. He wanted to feel the material with his bare hands, but—miracle of all miracles—he was wearing gloves. _White_ gloves, at that! 

“A gentleman must wear white gloves when he goes out to an event during the daytime hours,” Ignis argued. He’d had a hell of a time finding gloves that fit Ardyn’s hands on such short notice—had needed to call in a few favors at the glovers’—but he made it work.

Ardyn eyed his hands suspiciously. Curious. As if eyeing an interesting piece of Grecian sculpture in a museum. Not something that belonged to his own body. He stretched his fingers, testing the give of the tight cotton material. 

“Fascinating choice, Mr. Scientia,” Ardyn commented. Not entirely sarcastic, either.

It had been over twenty years since the last time Ardyn wore gloves of any kind. They were meant to be a tool to keep the hands warm; Ardyn more or less remembered their function. But there was no need for them in the Australian climate most of the time. And even when they did get brisk days, the convicts were certainly not allowed any kind of gloves with their slops (the clothes they were given by the colony). Some men wrapped their hands in rags when they started to blister.That was the closest facsimile. 

Before then, well. That was Ardyn’s time as a real gentleman. He supposed he used to wear gloves like this when he made house calls as a physician. He might have even carried a cane as well, a show of wealth. The one with the golden grip, right…? 

…But he hardly remembered the minutiae of those days now. Such a long time ago! So, to him, these gloves felt new and exciting.

“I like them,” Viola announced. She curled her fingers around Ardyn’s hand, stroking the seam along the palm. This gave her something new to toy with.

Ardyn broke into a smile. This girl. His love. This pretty young thing. So easily amused. Her softness touched a place in his heart. A distracting, lovely little place. That made him feel warmer entirely.

“Well, then. _Madam_.” Ardyn bent into a bow and held his hand out to her. Like a duke or a prince offering a ride in his carriage. “Shall we?”

Viola giggled. “Yes. Let’s.”

“Have fun kiddos,” Aranea called.

Ulldor lurked somewhere in the shadows. Eyeing the hansom as it pulled up. Ever watchful. He nodded in their direction as they left.

Ignis clasped his hands together. He seemed a bit nervous. Which wasn’t at all like him! But, he forced a smile all the same and said, “Do be careful, won’t you?”

“ ’Course, Iggy,” Viola answered over her shoulder as she walked away. 

They strolled out of the house arm in arm. She didn’t want to think about anything serious today. Just wanted to have fun watching the boat race, say hello to their friends. An enjoyable day.

Yet another day, yet another chance to be escorted!

_______________________________________

_Thames Tideway - Surrey Side_  
_5 April, 1857  
_ _Thursday - Midday_

The Oxford vs. Cambridge Boat Race was an annual tradition. It was a four mile rowing competition between the colleges; one in which every year there seemed to be more and more hard feelings. Most of the Londoners seemed to cheer for Cambridge, since Cambridge had fought for almost twenty years to get the race permanently moved to London, after which time they eventually won. But because of the rivalry between the schools, sportsmanship on behalf of the time only lasted long enough for the race itself. Then it was a year of shit talking until next year’s race.

Like clockwork.

Sore feelings aside, the race was actually fascinating to watch. It was held in the River Thames, but the Tideway portion from Chiswick to Putnam where there was an actual tide. So skill at rowing was essential in the task. 

Some years, because the starting line was near the estate, Regis chose to hold a viewing party at the Citadel. That would always be on the Middlesex side of the Thames, the northern side respectively. Due to that, Noctis decided that he and Ardyn should generally mill around on the Surrey side in the south. 

As soon as they stepped out of the hansom, they saw people they knew. 

“Ah, Mr. Izunia! And Miss Gainsborough, how lovely!” The Renquists had the honor of the first greeting.

Viola eyed Molly with slight envy. She was wearing the most fantastic straw hat with a light purple day gown. Even her portly figure looked brilliant in such a modern style. Viola would have traded anything for that hat—

—but no. Aranea worked hard to give her this hat. This was special. It was hers and hers alone. No one could compete with it.

So she held her lace-trimmed head high and greeted Molly with a lustrous smile. And Molly returned the favor.

“So glad you made it, Viola dear!” She leaned closer to her. “Now we can discuss everyone’s peculiar choices at the next tea party.”

That made Viola laugh behind her fingers. Molly was such a gossip! But she was a kind soul; the gossip never came with truly ill feelings. Just love of a good story. Viola didn’t mind.

Besides, she wanted to talk about everyone’s outfits the next time they had tea together! Already Viola saw far too many women in pale green linen. Only Luna could pull that off. Why did other women even try…? 

“Yes, we must,” Viola agreed conspiratorially. 

“You old dog, Izunia!” Renquist clapped Ardyn on the shoulder. “Where on earth have you been? No one’s seen hide nor hair of you in the club!” 

“Ah. Yes.” Ardyn smiled easily. Quick with a lie. “A spot of poor health, I’m afraid. Kept me laid up for a little over a week. Foul shame.”

“Yes, indeed!” Renquist shook his head in sympathy. “But you’re out in the sun now, thank heavens. And this will give us something to toast next Wednesday, won’t it? To good health!"

Molly clicked her tongue. “Good health, darling, meaning ‘watch your drink.’”

Pretending like he just remembered his wife was with him, Renquist jumped to agree. “Of course! A toast can be made with tonic water too, dearest. Or champagne, just a bit! Oh, and speaking of…I do believe they’re serving champagne in the tent. Care for a nip, friends?” 

So Ardyn and Viola stood around the tent drinking champagne and making small talk for a bit. The atmosphere was quite lively. People had begun drinking early—it was just that kind of a day. The sun was high in the sky. The weather was perfect for an April day. Not even a hint of fog.

“Couldn’t be better even if we made a request to the man upstairs!” Patrick Beasly was there. Already well in the cups. His wife was missing, evidently gone on to make better conversation. Viola kept up the hype that if Beasly was there, Evelyn must also be nearby. How she’d love to speak with her about the night of the ball! Was she receiving any calls from Threshton…? 

However, Viola and Ardyn had already made a pact not to leave each other’s sides for the entirety of the event. It was a bit awkward—men and women normal did not stay so tightly linked at parties even if they were married—but they knew it was necessary. After all, every bad thing that had ever happened to them at one of these things happened because they weren’t together. The breakdown at Steyliff. The night of the ball…

So. No more of that! They would be on the lookout the entire time, always looking over the other one’s shoulder. Making sure to steer clear of any obvious pitfalls. Which need not be named.

As the race began, they scurried to the banks to see the boats. Viola had to admit that she felt a certain level of power being able to monopolize Ardyn like this. It’s what she wanted from the beginning! Now she finally had it. And it felt good. Standing side by side for the remainder of the day.

The boats looked grand as they set out. Such a wonderful thing, rowing. The rowers needed to be perfectly in sync to make any ground whatsoever. 

Viola thought she rather understood the feeling. But having a visual was nice.

—————————

“Would you care to accompany me, Lady Lunafreya?” 

“Oh…you, sir?” 

“Yes, please. In the temporary absence of my son. Naturally, he’s already on his way. He regrettably had some matters with our groundskeepers to sort out first. When he’s finished I’m sure he’ll scurry on over.”

“Of course, my lord, sir.” 

“Then, shall we? It would be my pleasure.” 

“Certainly. And the pleasure is all mine.”

——————————————

“Oh, I do hope Oxford manages to pull it out of the bag this time!” Renquist was watching the boats through a pair of brass binoculars. “Can’t say as I know a single one of these blokes from the other, but. My alma mater and all. The old boys!” 

Euphemia, Molly’s sister, was standing next to Viola and making eager conversation about their mutual friend Evelyn Beasly. Apparently it was a known thing now that she and Daniel Threshton were courting. Threshton had even managed to secure her hand for the next ball, the Tummult’s at the end of the month! 

“I must say. Threshton is a fine fellow, isn’t he?” Euphie sipped her champagne slyly. “Especially when he stands up straight! Quite tall, that man, though you wouldn’t know it!”

Viola nodded vigorously. “You’re so right! I danced with Daniel at Eckhart’s and noticed the same.” 

Euphie marveled at that. Apparently not many women had actually danced with Daniel at the ball, Viola was among the few! “Well. Now that his unfortunate divorce is final, he’s a free man. He can do whatever he likes!”

Viola was unbelievably happy for both of them! She might even have to send a card to Evelyn, just to let her know personally how elated she was. Threshton too for that matter. This made her realize that one of these days she was going to have to learn how to forge a signature. Since she couldn’t sign anything in a hand that looked even remotely like Noctis’s. 

Maybe Ardyn could teach her. Did he forge signatures? …She had a feeling the answer to that question was a strong ‘maybe.’ Leading towards ‘almost definitely.’ 

After all he’d been walking around with his dead lover’s name for almost ten years. Signing a fake name on all his documents. He must have changed his signature to avoid suspicion.

She glanced over at him. He was engaged in conversation with a man Viola didn’t know. But it seemed to be amicable enough. Finally. A civilized acquaintance! That made for a nice change. 

“Looks like the boats are headed further east,” Renquist announced. “Let’s move along, chaps!” Their small gaggle ambled east, following the boats. 

So far Viola was having a wonderful time. The breeze kissed her skin underneath the linen. Such a freeing feeling! Not having to wear all those coats and gloves and buttoned down shirts. Just a bit of linen on her shoulders. And, she could look fabulous while doing it. That was a complete win on all sides, wasn’t it?

With her arm clasped around Ardyn’s, Viola turned to face the rest of the crowd. There were people walking closer to the water now to get a better look. She watched them for a moment as the crowd parted, many men escorting many different ladies. 

She thought, for a moment, she saw a rather mismatched pair. A young blonde woman on the arm of a grizzled man. One who walked with a slight limp. A recognizable gait—

Her mouth went dry. She stopped dead in her tracks. She wanted to leave—she wanted to turn around and ran straight for the hills! That was the only sensible thing if the evidence in front of her face was to be believed at all, but…

She could not move. All she could do was stand there. Stuck to the ground. Utterly immovable as she saw Regis walking down the embankment, escorting Luna on one arm. Luna was wearing a lovely white dress today, a new one, so it had taken Viola a moment to recognize her. But there was not mistaking her now. And Regis, of course Regis! Viola’s own father!

They turned. Headed straight for them.

_That_ shocked Viola enough to suddenly turn her back. She pressed her face into Ardyn’s arm, hiding every distinguishable part of her. From the back, Viola must surely look just like a woman in a dress. And Ardyn looked like Ardyn, whom neither Regis nor Lunafreya knew. But from the front…

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit…

“Oh shit…oh shit…”

Ardyn leaned down. His lover was gripping his arm as if looking for an escape route. She was quite literally shaking. All out of the blue! “Viola, what is it?” 

She glanced up at him. “We need to turn around. Go the other way. Now.” 

Not asking why, Ardyn did as she asked. They strolled rapidly back across the westward embankment. 

“What’s going on?” he asked as they sped up to avoid being seen. “Who have we narrowly escaped this time?”

“That’s my father.” Viola felt like she might spit up all the champagne she’d just drunk. These were words she’d never wanted to have to say. “And the woman I told you about. _Right_ behind us.” 

To his credit, Ardyn didn’t turn around immediately. And not blatantly either. Instead he cast a glance casually over one shoulder, as one might when checking the pace of his fellows nearby. It gave him a good enough glance though. 

He saw Regis—the father himself. He’d never had a picture to go with the name until now. And Lunafreya…well she was pretty enough, wasn’t she? Arm in arm, though, they did not make the most attractive couple.

But no time to ponder that now.

“Right. Let’s move back to the tent. Try for a swift exit.” Ardyn steered his shaky lover towards the covered area. Their best bet was to act normal, not attract attention, and try to get out without being seen.

Viola looked deathly pale. She hadn’t really heard, she was just following Ardyn.

Regis. _And_ Luna! Why both? Why couldn’t it be one or the other…?

————————————

Alberta Tummult bit her lip as she watched him.

“Sister, you realize we’re supposed to be watching the _boats_ , not the old people, right?” Angelica Tummult, three years her junior, sighed in boredom.

“Who cares about boats?” Alberta tossed back the rest of her champagne. “This is the thrill of the hunt!”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“Don’t you wonder about it, Angie? What a man does after he’s ruined? What drives his motions? How he stands on two legs? How he _bears_ it all?”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “Not really. I’d prefer to be standing alongside a handsome bloke and cheering for Cambridge, but…” 

She followed her sister as her sister followed the old man.

“If you’re so terribly fascinated by a washed-up fool like Iedolas Aldercapt, then I guess….” She sighed again. “We can do that too.” 

They slunk towards the tent. Following him.

—————————————-

Ardyn and Viola ducked under cover of the tent. They both looked behind them, eyeing their surroundings. Trying to see if Regis and Luna managed to follow them. 

Viola swore she could still she blond hair standing next to grey. They were there—she knew they were—they were still close. She buried her fingers into Ardyn’s arm and started panting.

“We need to leave. Now.” She was sweating so badly. She hadn’t been prepared for what it felt like to see them here! When she was herself! 

Ardyn tried to get a eyeful of their path from the tent to the nearest road. They could manage it in a few strides if Viola was able to walk a little faster. Then as soon as they were on the road they would have to take the snaking cobblestone streets into town, a place where they could well and truly disappear into the crowd. Call the nearest hansom and head home.

He had it all planned out. He really did.

And they were so close.

“Let’s go.” Ardyn led Viola out from the tent. They were moving in the opposite direction of the crowd, so they didn’t need to maneuver too much. They were trying to move as fast as possible. No time to spare—

Just as they reached the place where the people had started to thin out, they heard him.

“ _You_.”

The voice made the blood in both of their bodies turn to cold sludge. A wheezing, vile, wet rasp. A voice that was impossible to forget. And Viola had only met the man once!

For Ardyn, it was the voice that haunted his every step. In his mind. From here to Australia and back. Twenty five years on.

“Ardyn, forget him. We’re almost out. Let’s just go…” Viola tried to tug her lover towards the road. 

But his eyes were closed. And he was stuck. She knew what that felt like; the same had just happened to her. Except, now they needed to leave! No time!

“Stop right there, you despicable creature!” 

In Ardyn’s mind, he saw the face of Iedolas. Twenty years younger. Sitting on witness stand. Staring at him from across the courthouse. Hatred in his amber eyes, in every broken vein on his wrinkled face. 

_“He’s a monster. A demon. You must convict!”_

_And Delvyn. Speaking to the judge now. “Your Honor, Mary Aldercapt’s widower has spoken.”_

_The judge’s eyes. Burrowing into Ardyn. Seeing him for something he wasn’t._

_He wasn’t! He truly wasn’t the man they were making him out to be. He wasn’t he wasn’t…he wasn’t…_

So he said to himself for four months onboard the Westmoreland. Before he gave up the hope of that old life. And surrendered to a bleak fate. Even now! Ardyn was still fighting with the knowledge that he wasn’t that man.

Except….he was a little bit. After he got out of prison. He was that monster they’d seen in him. He’d become it over the years.

A self-fulfilling prophecy.

“You monster. You…murderer!” People in the crowd heard that one. A few gasps rang out and people turned to look.

“Ardyn, come on…” 

But Ardyn heard only one voice. He turned around slowly. This time, _this_ time, he would face his accuser fairly.

Iedolas Aldercapt stood about five or six feet away. The crowds were thinner here because they were far from the embankment. Yet they were getting thicker now, since Iedolas was raising such a fuss. Raising his voice as he slung the most horrible words at Ardyn. Even so, the path between him and Ardyn was clear. In that sense, people seemed to want to get out of the way of whatever it was these men had between them. 

“Murder?”

“Did he say murder?” 

“I thought I heard...?'

“Are we quite safe?”

Titters of anxiety rang out through the upper class members of London society. This whole event— _every_ fucking event in the London Season might as well have a trial of its own! A unique brand of judgement and hellfire! 

So let them judge him. These people. Fools to the last. _Nothing_. People that spoke the name of a dead man so willingly—Izunia—just because they were told to. A man they would have seen as the scum of the earth had they known him. Not worthy of the time of day. And in that, Izunia was endlessly more important than any of these people—

“Iedolas.” Ardyn took several steps towards the vitriolic old man. “How nice to see you, as always. Tell me, what is your business with me? Say it plain.”

“My _business_?” Iedolas’s sunken eyes widened. “My business is seeing you in irons! You filth!”

Ardyn laughed darkly and held his arms out the sides. Mocking surrender. “Yes, well. You’ve already done that. So what now?”

Fuck. Viola clapped a hand over her mouth. Ardyn had more or less just admitted to being a criminal in front of half of London society. People looked at each other, shocked. Word already passing between them like a live animal.

“Irons? That man, Izunia?” 

“And Aldercapt?”

“Whatever could he mean?”

“A conman is he? I always suspected!”

Jesus, this was happening in seconds! Viola ran to Ardyn and put her hands on his shoulders. “We need to go, we need to _go_!”

“Yes, ten years in irons. Too good for you!” Iedolas spat on the ground in testament. Like a laborer instead of a man dressed head to toe in a black silk suit.

“…Twelve, actually.” The sarcastic smile ran away from Ardyn’s eyes. His eyes went dull. Jaw working furiously in the back of his mouth. Grinding. “…Thanks for that.” 

Iedolas raised one shaky, rheumatic hand towards the man he loathed more than anything. “And many more, I say!” Filled with vinegar, he turned to the gathering crowd. “Hear me! This man! This man here!” He was screaming at the top of his lungs. “This man murdered my wife! In cold blood! He’s a murderer! A _murderer_ I tell you! Alert the police! Someone send for the runners! This man is Ardyn Lucis! A convict!”

“Ardyn Lucis?”

“Well that name does sound a bit familiar…”

“Police? Is this a serious business?”

“Well it’s Aldercapt. Bit doddering at this age. Maybe we should just let it die down first.”

Because the word was spreading so fast, it inevitably reached Regis and Luna where they were standing near the embankment. 

“Murder?” Regis almost choked on the word. Such loud talk of murder—at the Oxford Cambridge Boat Race! Of all places! Unthinkable. 

“Oh my.” Luna pressed a hand to her mouth. She’d never heard people speak so loudly in London! Polite society spoke in even, hushed tones. That was expected. So…this was new. Not to mention the subject matter! “How horrible. I hope everyone’s alright.” 

Regis shook his head sadly. “What is the world coming to…” he whispered, mostly to himself. The really unfortunate part about this was the fact that he was probably the most high-born person present right now. Being a Lord, it was Regis’s _noblesse oblige_ to attend to such matters and try to solve them if he could. Doubly so because his estate was only a few miles away. What would people say if they heard Lord Regis stood by and did nothing while low-minded individuals wreaked havoc on his land? 

It wouldn’t do. 

“I’m afraid I must see to this, Lady Lunafreya.”

“I’ll come with you.” She wouldn’t turn her back if someone was in trouble.

Regis recognized that. “Alright, but stand close to me.” 

Meanwhile Iedolas kept screaming. “Help! Help, I say! Send for the police! There’s a murderer in our midst! He killed my wife!” 

Ardyn looked at the crowd. Already they were turning on him. People he’d lunched and dined with not three weeks ago. They were raising their eyebrows. Turning away.

People were all the same. This was the way of the world. Never changing… 

Viola watched helplessly as familiar shadows formed across her lover’s face. Eerie and terrible. Morphing Ardyn into that other version of himself—the man she worked so very hard not to meet. The monster in a man. 

“Ardyn…”

He ignored her and began growling low in his throat. One of his worst looks.

Ardyn could hardly see anything at all now. Just the black vein of muck inside his heart where he kept all his anger. It was rising to the surface. Stretching out its tendrils. Yawning…reaching for Iedolas. So full of hatred—he wanted to snuff the life right out of that man. That thing. 

It would be so easy, too. Look how weak this man was now.

“Your wife…” Ardyn barely spoke the words his teeth were so clenched. “Your _wife_ …”

Mary. Precious Mary. 

Like an elastic band, he snapped. 

Before anyone could move, Ardyn charged at Iedolas. He closed the distance with lightning speed. By the time he reached him, his hands were already around Iedolas’s neck. Not squeezing right away. But digging in. _Gripping_. Latching onto Iedola’s frail throat like an eagle latches onto prey.

“I did. _Nothing_. To your wife.” 

Ardyn snarled and shook Iedolas by the throat. Leaving definite marks on the papery skin underneath. His hot breath splashed the old man’s face, his eyes gone black. Iedolas coughed and sputtered, trying in vain to undo Ardyn’s hold. But there was no contest of power here. Ardyn was far, far stronger.

“Curse you…” Iedolas gargled. The years had not been kind to him. His eyes were unfocused and cloudy, as if he could barely see. And he looked overall in very poor health. 

Being penniless might do that to a man.

“Curse you…” Iedolas surreptitiously dropped a hand to his coat pocket. Searching. “…and your whole _wretched_ family…!” 

Now Ardyn began to squeeze.

Viola looked around desperately. People were screaming, running to and fro. No one was trying to help Ardyn or Iedolas. They just seemed shocked that the day’s events would bring them here! And in the midst of the crowd Viola saw a mess of grey hair accompanied by a head of blond. Coming closer. She heard her father’s voice saying, “Excuse me. Make way, please. Let me handle this. Just get to safety.” 

Now was her time to run. She needed to run right now and get as far away from here as possible. Never look back—

It’s what her instincts told her to do. But her heart…she looked back where the man she loved was currently trying to squeeze the life out of some old geezer. A man who would surely die if Ardyn put even half his strength into it. 

She couldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t. They’d made a pact to stay together. They were supposed to have each other’s backs when things got bad.

Not only that, she loved him. As much as her own life at least. Probably more. 

So. She turned her back on the freedom behind her and instead ran towards Ardyn. She needed to stop him, before it was too late! 

“Ardyn, no!” Viola gripped Ardyn’s hands and tried to pull him away from Iedolas. “Stop! You’ll kill him!”

Driven mad by bloodlust, Ardyn only squeezed harder. 

This wasn’t working. Viola needed to do something else. Instead of trying to fight Ardyn with force—which couldn’t be done—she needed to reach the sane part of him that must still be somewhere inside. She knew he could come back from this, he’d done it before in her own arms!

“…Ardyn.” She lowered her voice and brought her hands to his face. Cradling his head on either side. “Ardyn. That’s enough. Let go. This isn’t you…come on, you’re not like this…not the part of you that I know…”

When he felt her hands on his face, Ardyn’s concentration broke. He’d recognize those hands anywhere. On his death bed, or in hell. Sane or insane, he’d know her touch. 

He loosened his grip and looked at Viola. 

The second he took his eyes off Iedolas, the old man pulled a knife out from his coat. Apparently he’d been keeping it there—an old-fashioned whittling knife, none too dull—for an occasion like this. Withered and weak, but with the passion of hatred behind him, Iedolas lunged at Ardyn with the knife.

Perhaps because he was half blind, or maybe because his arms did not respond to his commands the way they should. Or perhaps because the three of them were entangled in that moment, an awkward angle where there really was no freedom of movement. But, for any of these reasons, Iedolas’s strike missed Ardyn and instead whizzed just past Viola’s face. Nicking the side of her cheek, fractions of an inch away from her eye. 

Instead of a body, the knife caught the wide brim of Viola’s straw spoon bonnet. The force of Iedolas’s strike caused the ribbon ties to come loose. From there, the swing of the knife did the rest of the work. It knocked the bonnet clear off Viola’s head, sending it tumbling to the floor. 

Her hair, her natural manliness, was bared to the world. Despite all attempts at artifice.

But there was no time to register that. Because Ardyn had wrestled the knife from Iedolas with barely a flick of his hand. Now he was wielding the blade and he was going straight for Iedolas’s throat. This time infuriated that the old man had tried to take Viola away from him, on top of everything else!

“No!” 

Noctis forced himself in between Ardyn and Iedolas, holding back his lover’s murderous hands by the wrists. He tried to create as much room as possible between their two bodies. 

Because one sweep of that knife would slit Iedolas’s throat and then it would all be over.

“Ardyn!” Noctis used all his strength to hold Ardyn back, whose eyes were unseeing again. “Stop! You need to stop now! It’s me! Come on, it’s me goddamn it!” 

Ardyn saw only Iedolas. And the need to kill.

Refusing to give up, Noctis pressed their foreheads together. It was something they did all the time. During sex, after sex. Before sex. Even just hanging out. Noctis would crawl into Ardyn’s lap, or Arydn would put him there, and they would lean on each other. Head to head, cheek to cheek. Nose to nose.

So Noctis did that now. Hoping his skin was enough to snap Ardyn out of the bloodlust.

The black anger inside Ardyn parted when he felt Noctis’s face against his own. That warmth. The warmth of his love… Nothing else inside Ardyn was a match for that. 

Slowly, his grip weakened.

“Stop.” Noctis whispered softly, bringing Ardyn’s hands down. (Mindful of the knife.) “This isn’t you. And I know you. Right?” 

He opened his eyes, letting go of one of Ardyn’s hands to stroke the side of his face. Soothingly. The way he would when they were alone. 

“I know you, don’t I?” 

Those were the words Noctis said to Ardyn when he told him he didn’t care about his past. That the man he loved was the man he knew. It was a kindness, a display of love, that Ardyn would never forget as long as he lived. Remembering it now chased away the lingering needles of rage in his vision. For a moment, he saw nothing but Noctis. Just his love. 

He dropped the knife to the ground. Noctis quickly kicked it away, far out of reach. 

The moment had passed. Without any fatal injuries. 

Ardyn cupped Noctis’s precious hands inside his own. “Yes, my love. You know me.” He felt tired. Weak from the all-encompassing rage. But warm. Standing face to face with Noctis as if they were the only people in the world.

At that, Noctis smiled. “Yeah. Of course.” 

They were back. 

“Why…"

A broken sob from behind them shattered the illusion. No, they were not in fact alone. Noctis and Ardyn were standing in front of nearly half of London Society. With Iedolas at their back and Regis…somewhere in all that crowd. 

“Why…?” Iedolas was crying where he stood. His arthritic hands clenched around his face. “Why didn’t you kill me….? I thought you’d…” 

Oh. Viola recognized that sound. The desperation of a man who wanted to die. She’d heard the same sound in Ardyn’s voice when he told certain parts of his story. Iedolas clearly did not want to live anymore. Maybe he’d been goading Ardyn into killing him all along. Or maybe, he didn’t even realize what he was doing exactly. He just needed to try.

Viola was overcome with sadness for Iedolas. Disabled, cheated out of his life’s riches. A widower. There was so _much_ pain here. Too much for any one person!

She approached him carefully. Then she put her hand on his thin-skinned cheek. A soft touch. Something this man probably hadn’t had in years. Maybe not since his wife died. 

Iedolas stopped sobbing for a moment. He looked back at Viola. Open, vulnerable. Eyes wide. Not sure how to read the look of sympathy on her face.

This man was probably a good man once. He loved with a whole heart. So much that he’d tried to rescue his wife from addiction and driven himself mad seeking revenge for her senseless death. He must have loved her more than anything. And Mary? She must have…

Viola tried to think of Mary. She wished she could _be_ her in that moment. Be what he needed. Chase away that inconsolable grief.

But all she could do was smile at Iedolas. “Your wife…Mary…” she murmured gently. “Mary must have loved you very much."

Iedolas’s gaze turned into confusion. “…You…knew my wife?” 

“…No, I’m sorry, but…” Viola stroked his face. “I know that she was a kind woman. And she must have seen that same kindness in you. To love you like she did.” 

Iedolas closed his eyes as more tears poured out. He nodded painfully. “Mary…Mary was…the sweetest person who ever lived. A truly pure soul. Too good…too good for this world…” His shoulders shook. “How I…how I miss her…it’s so hard to…” 

Without thinking, Viola wrapped Iedolas in an embrace. She let him cry against her shoulder. (He was so shrunken his face barely reached her neckline.) 

“I know.” It was all she could say. 

Ardyn touched Viola’s back. When she turned to look at him, she saw that he was not facing Iedolas anymore. He was facing the crowd.

They were surrounded by Londoners in a sort of circle. People gave them a fairly wide berth. No one wanted to get too close. 

Because the truth was all out there in the open now. Every bit of it. All the compromising parts. And Iedolas’s sobbing acting as the soundtrack. The only sound in the entire event at this point. 

…Regis and Luna stood right in the front. In perfect view of everything.

When Regis arrived on the scene, he saw a man and what appeared to be a woman struggling over a knife. The woman seemed like she had jumped in the way of Iedolas Aldercapt. So she was protecting him—but the knife was clearly Iedolas’s. It had his family’s crest up the hilt. Plain as day. 

The struggling only last a moment. The man and the woman touched intimately, like lovers. Yet another layer to the impropriety of all this! That and the woman in the linen dress had freakishly short hair. (At the _boat race_ , by god!) Fortunately, the violence seemed to sort itself out…

…But when the woman turned around, Regis saw her face. And her face…was a face he knew. 

Nothing. Nothing in the world—not one single ordeal out of all the ordeals Regis had been through in his entire life—could have prepared him for that sight. The sight of his son, Noctis, wearing a dress in the middle of the boat race. Wrestling a knife from a murderer and then embracing the man like a lover. Then turning to Iedolas as if they knew each other—

There was nothing. No wealth of experience for Regis to draw upon. No words. No hymns or prayers or principles. _Nothing_.

And perhaps it was the sheer shock that drove Regis to lose his composure. For the first time in nearly fifty years. The first and absolutely worst time for him to lose control of his tongue.

But he simply couldn’t help it. The moment he realized it was Noctis standing there—dressed like a _woman_ , with another _man_ , a _murderer_ —Regis forget himself and said (clear as day):

“…Noctis?” 

Noctis turned when he heard his name. He found himself staring right back at his father. 

He had a weird desire to say hello. Especially knowing that his father recognized him. It was his first instinct. Like, of course, seeing his father out in public the thing to do would be to say hi. But…how, in this case? ‘Hey Dad’? Something casual.

No. That was just ludicrous. Noctis forced himself to look away from his father—who had gone deathly pale and unsteady on his feet, like he might faint at any moment (unheard of for Lord Caelum)—and instead he looked over at Luna. He might Luna’s gaze. Trying to figure out if she could see him, the real him…

Her mouth was open. Slack. She blinked a few times, trying to focus. To be fair, it wasn’t every day one saw a man dressed in women’s clothing in the middle of London society. Especially not a lord’s son. Especially not someone she’d known since childhood. 

And the same was true for everyone else in attendance.

“Noctis? Did Lord Regis say ‘Noctis’?”

“His son?”

“…Is that Noctis Caelum? Standing there like….that?” 

“What’s he wearing?”

“Is this some kind of a gag?” 

“Noctis Caelum’s gone batty?”

“He a Molly then?”

“My god…at the boat race!” 

Once more the word spread like wildfire. Within five minutes, everyone in attendance at the Oxford Cambridge boat race of 1857 would know that Noctis Caelum had been found in a dress, with another man. 

True to her nature, Luna spurred into action after a brief moment of disbelief. She immediately turned to Regis, holding him by the shoulders should he fall over and also, conveniently, standing in the way of Noctis. Shielding him from Regis’s view to give the poor man a break from the sight. Long enough to get his awareness back. 

Then Luna looked over her shoulder. Right at Noctis’s face, straight in his eyes. She said, “Go. Hurry!”

It was clear from her body language that she would try to hold off the crowd. It was also clear, from the way she looked at Noctis that she saw him. Really _saw_ him. His true self.

She saw _her_.

“Please, everybody, it’s alright!” Luna spoke to the people, trying to distract them while Noctis got away. “This must all just be a misunderstanding! Let’s go back to the embankment while these matters get settled.”

“Call the police, I say!” 

“Yes, send for them. How many laws have these…bloody _buggers_ broken just now?” 

“Here, here!”

“Language, please! The boat race! And there are ladies present!” 

Ardyn touched Viola’s elbow. “We don’t want to be here for the rest of this,” he said. “Let us away. Quickly.”

Iedolas had slipped away from Viola and was now standing, huddled, with his back turned. They needed to leave. So Viola didn’t have time to say anything else to him. 

But, as she and Ardyn fled, Iedolas watched. He wasn’t crying anymore. His face looked sort of blank. And he was staring in Viola’s direction. Utterly mystified. Changed, in a way. Unsure what to believe about anything that just happened.

In the end, they tried to follow through with Ardyn’s plan. Viola hiked up her skirts and Ardyn ran at full speed. Nearly carrying her as they reached the road. Then, they followed the path and casually slipped into the crowd.

Disappearing.

______________________________________

_Kingston Upon Thames_  
_5 April 1857  
_ _Thursday - Evening_

“Is the kettle on, Mr. Ulldor?” Ignis called from the sitting room. He glanced at the clock yet again. It was getting a bit late. Surely Noctis and Arydn would want tea when they returned.

“Yeh.” It was a monosyllabic sound Ulldor usually muttered when he meant ‘yes.’ By now, Ignis was long used to it.

“Good, thank you.” He went back to his reading. 

“Where do you think they are?” Aranea wondered allowed. She was sewing more coverlets for her mistress. Trying to think ahead for what Viola might need until her hair grew back. “Usually done by now aren’t they?” 

“Yes, that’s true….” Ignis glanced again at the clock. “Perhaps I should—”

“At the front.” Ulldor was looking at the window. (What sense did it make looking at clock when the world was happening out there, not inside the belly of some circle-faced dial?) He went out to go unlock the gate for them.

Sure enough, Noctis and Ardyn burst through the door a moment later. Out of breath. Positively frantic.

“We…we need to go….get out…” Noctis’s bonnet was missing and his face was red. Make-up smeared. “Gotta go…”

“Wh-what?” Ignis rose to his feet. Ready to act.

Ardyn swallowed hard. “We must be off. The police…the police might be headed in this direction—”

“The police?!” Aranea shouted. “What the fuck happened?” 

In a jumbled mess, they explained everything. Slowly. Watching the horror break out across their three servants’ faces. The horror that this…this was the end. Everything they’d been hoping to avoid? That was done now. It had come to meet them head on. 

And they were well and truly fucked. Ardyn explicitly stated as much.

“But…why would the police…?” Aranea still didn’t understand why this was a police matter! She’d seen worse scraps than that coming home from church!

“Well…” Noctis glanced warily at Ardyn. “Ardyn did try to kill a guy.” 

Not his proudest hour. Ardyn’s demeanor had calmed down considerably since the heat of the moment. But that didn’t change the fact that he had fully intended to kill Iedolas if the man just stood there and let him do it—and if Noctis hadn’t….

So. “Yes. That’s true,” he said blandly. As if it wasn’t the worst crime you could commit.

Silence fell over Engheld. 

Ironically, Ignis was the first one to speak up. He held his hands out in front of himself. Steadying. Firm. “In that case, we have no other options. Our path is clear.” He adjusted his glasses and faced his master and his master’s lover. “We need to get the two of you out of London. Out of England, preferably. And immediately, no time to spare!” 

The finality of those words settled in. They needed to leave. They needed to run. 

Shocking everyone, Ulldor jumped right into action. “Ey-o. Making a bolt for it, we are? Fair’s fair. On the bustle, then!”

He ran out of the room and was back a moment later. Not even long enough for the rest of the room to realize he had just spoken. When he returned, he was lugging a huge suitcase. Already packed by the looks of it.

“You’ve been keeping that bag together, Caligo?” Ardyn asked, eyeing the luggage with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh aye. Enough for you n’ me in here, there is. Always figured we might end up like this.” Caligo’s mouth twitched into a sardonic smile. “You never did pay up on that bobstick, Bluey.” 

“…Right you are, my friend.” Ardyn nodded and almost broke into a laugh. The fact that Ardyn had so totally and utterly lost the bet that brought them here in the first place, and then lacked the dignity to even pay up…well, it spoke volumes.

Reeling slightly, Ardyn took a look around the sitting room of his childhood home. Eyeing it. Realizing this would be the very last time he’d ever step foot in the place. In this lifetime, at least. For good. 

…C’est la vie.

“Ah, well.” Ardyn shrugged and clapped his hands once. “It’s over, then. I’ll admit it was fun while it lasted.” He turned to Caligo. “Now, Jim. Let’s search the place for anything valuable. As much as we can carry. That’ll come in handy on the trip, won’t it?”

“Right-o.”

And so the two of them began the process of virtually stripping Engheld of everything that could be sold or pawned. They moved like termites. Pulling out silverware, picture frames, spare pieces of china, bits of lead. Anything and everything that wasn’t nailed down. 

While those two ‘worked’ (in a many of speaking), Aranea turned to Viola. “Let’s get you changed, miss.”

“Uh, right.” 

“Wait!” Ignis grabbed Noctis’s shoulder. Stopping him for a moment. His eyes were so very conflicted. “I must…leave you now, Noct. There is so very much that needs doing.” He gripped Noctis’s hands tightly. “I must procure safe travels for you. And you…Noctis, you must get ready for a long trip. An indefinite one. For this is no guarantee it will ever be safe enough for you to return.” 

He made sure Noctis was looking him in the eye when he explained the rest. “Noct, I also have a bag for you. One that’s already packed. Like Ulldor I…thought this day might come. It’s safe, in the usual place. In the Citadel.” 

Their usual place. Of course Noctis remembered. The secret hiding place they used as children when they wanted to pass things back and forth. It was forbidden for servants and nobility to play together so they sometimes had to get creative. 

“You must go there and get it, Noct.” Ignis bit his lip in anxiety. “It…might not be safe, so you must be as quick as you can. Enter through the servant’s quarters. Someone will let you in, hopefully Gladio. Use only the back staircases. Don’t. Linger.” Ignis squeezed Noctis’s hands until they hurt. “I wish I could go with youbut there’s so very much to be done…and you need that bag, Noct. It has a few changes of clothes, your passport, and a fair bit of money.” 

“My passport?” Noctis was honestly surprised to hear that one. “Ignis how long have you been—”

“Just!” He interrupted his master to give more urgent directions. “We’ll meet up again tonight, but not here. Too dangerous. Let’s meet at the train station. 9:00 sharp. Understood?”

“I got it, Iggy. 9:00. Train station.” It was far too surreal to be making plans like this out of the blue. All Noctis could do was keep up.

“Be safe. _Please_.” 

And with that, Ignis was out the door. He was right, too. There was too much to do and not a moment to linger.

__________________________________________________

_Chiswick_  
_5 April 1857  
_ _Thursday - Evening_

Noctis paid the hansom extra to wait around the back. Near the servants’ entrance, but hidden from sight. 

This was his life now. Sneaking into his own house like a thief in the night. Noctis might have reflected a little more on the irony (or really, lack thereof. Anyone with an inkling of the kinds of things Noctis did in his spare time might have guessed it would end up like this), but his heart was hammering. He wanted to get and and get out. No noise, no nothing.

A kitchen maid let him in. She offered the young master a candle to light his way, but he turned it down. Luckily he had been through this whole thing before. Trying to pass through the house quietly before Regis noticed he’d been missing all night. So he more or less knew the way. 

The bag was waiting in the spare cupboard on the fourth floor. It wasn’t used for a hell of a lot. Old, unworn clothing. Forgotten storage. So Ignis and Noctis descended upon the spot in their youth as the perfect ‘hidden treasure’ place. And even now, when his life had fully gone to hell, Noctis could depend on this place to hold something magical for him. 

A black leather bag carrying exactly what Ignis said. A bag with which Noctis could start a new life. He clutched the bag to his chest as if clutching his very freedom in his hands.

“Noct.”

The voice startled Noctis so much he nearly jumped right out of his skin. His face flushed and he screamed into the night like a child—

Holding the bag for dear life, Noctis whipped around. 

Regis was standing there. Obviously waiting for him.

“Come on, son.” Regis crossed his arms. He was wearing a smoking jacket and house pants. Much more relaxed than he had been at the boat race (meaning, he didn’t look to be on the verge of complete collapse right at this moment. The comfortable clothing probably helped). “I’ve known about your and Ignis’s hiding place for decades. And I…thought you might come. Fairly easy to predict, actually.” 

Noctis rose to his feet. He felt so emotional seeing his father right now. He hadn’t planned on seeing him. Not after that. Not when Regis…knew. Everything.

Shame crept up Noctis’s arms. His back, his face. Everywhere. He was so ashamed to face his father when Regis saw through all the lies. Saw the _truth_.

But there was no time to be ashamed. This created an interesting effect. Because there was no time for Noctis to spend worrying about his own shame, he simply had to forge ahead. Shove all his embarrassment aside and act strong. Act like he needed to so that he and Ardyn could escape tonight. Without anything in their way.

Noctis would not tolerate anything in his way. Not now. When they were almost free.

“I’m leaving, Dad.” He held his chin up high (he was wearing his spare men’s clothes, thankfully). “I’m leaving and there’s nothing you can do to stop me—”

“Noctis. Please.” Regis held up a hand. “Come, let’s…talk about this inside.” He led the way to a sitting room nearby. One of the many mostly unused rooms in the Citadel. He closed the door behind them, as if worried servants (or anyone else, god forbid) might be listening to their conversation. 

Noctis knew he shouldn’t stand here wasting time. Regis was still pale. Bloodless. He hadn’t fully recovered from the shock of that afternoon. Noctis could tell by his father’s face that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. He had no time…

…But this was his father. Regis _knew_ and he wanted to _talk_. …What else could Noctis do? 

“Son. I…” Regis’s face was illuminated by low burning the gas lamps. Shadows danced across his face. “I have many questions. But the more I think about it, the more I’ve come to the realization that…some of these questions are best left unanswered.” 

His mouth turned down at the edges. Like it did when he was truly furious. 

Noctis felt suddenly small again. A little kid being reprimanded by his father.

…But he wasn’t having it this time! “Dad, I—”

“No, let me continue.” Uncompromising as always. Regis went on, “There are a series of things that lay before us. Things we must do. The question is…what do we do _first_.” Regis took a deep breath. “How do we begin…how does one even begin untangling the mess you’ve made of things this time, Noctis?”

…Oh. 

Oh. 

Noctis really, really didn’t know why. But somehow— _some fucking how_ —he was able to be disappointed. He felt the old hurt, the hurt that Regis didn’t see him. Wouldn’t see him. Had seen him—literally!—and still refused to see. That hurt dragged itself up out of the crevice of Noctis’s shattered love for his father and nestled ruthlessly in Noctis’s chest.

Regis thought it was all a mistake.

Of course. How could he not?

“There’s really only one answer to all of this. You must…go away for a little while, Noctis. Out of London. Away from the social circles for a bit. At least until the next Season. Maybe even longer.” Regis crossed his arms. Coldly calculating. “We’ll say…an extended trip to family overseas. Or missionary work or something. Time in the country to help build character. Any story that works as long as people understand that you’re out of the game for now.”

“…And where will I be going, Dad?” Noctis had already mostly accepted that this whole line of thinking was going to be bullshit. But he had to…he had to know for sure.

Just get it all out there. Everything else was! Might was get Regis’s hurtful knee-jerk reactions out of the way too.

Regis held up his hands. Steadying Noctis. “I know a place. It’s…like a…hotel. In the Alps. Very secret, hidden away from the rest of the world. A family might…set someone up there to live for a short period of time.” He licked his lips. Uncharacteristically nervous. “I’m told it’s quite lovely.”

“You want to book me a trip to the Alps?” Noctis crossed his arms defensively. That didn’t sound so bad? Especially considering…?

Regis shook his head solemnly. “Not a trip. A _stay_.”

Noctis blinked. “And the difference is…?”

“For a stay,” Regis’s face was deathly cold. “you must…remain there until I see fit to…remove you. Under the ward of the professionals that work in those facilities. They’re like doctors. Of a…certain sort.”

…So, Noctis put the pieces together quickly enough. He could hardly believe his own ears!

“Dad!” He would have laughed if he weren’t so angry he could have screamed at the top of his lungs until there was nothing left inside of him! “Are you talking about an asylum?!” 

“No, no!” Regis waved his hands at the idea. “Noctis, no! It’s not an asylum. It’s a hotel. …With doctors. And reliable security so that you cannot wander off the premises and hurt yourself in the mountains—”

“Dad that’s a fucking asylum!” 

“Call it what you like.” Regis seemed irritated by the subject. “But they have state of the art facilities and I’m told it’s a…pleasant experience. For some. You remember the Kettridge girl? Spent a few years in south Africa doing missionary work? Well, she was actually in the Alps. At this place. Her parents say it helped her mellow quite a bit. She used to be so angry at the world, before. But now they even have marriage prospects for her—”

Sounded like hell.

Noctis could have cried. He certainly would, later. But there was too much going on right now to waste time on tears. “Dad, I’m…I don’t need an asylum. I’m not crazy.”

Regis’s jaw dropped. He looked like he had been punched by those words. “You’re not…?” 

Rage and the visceral level of disgust—even deeper than the one Noctis had seen when Regis forced Ignis to cut his hair (was this the deepest layer or was there more…below? Noctis shuddered to think)—filled Regis’s face. He looked murderous. The kind of face Noctis used to cry thinking about when Aulea first died. His worst fear: A father with no love in his heart for a kid as fucked up as Noctis.

Regis got up close to Noctis’s face. Almost nose to nose. “You look me in the eyes, right here and now like a man, and tell me that you don’t think you’re crazy.” His voice was low. Menacing.

Noctis's lower lip trembled, but he refused to give in. Not now. Not after…the asylum suggestion.

So Noctis got right back in Regis’s face. Shoulders up. Standing as tall as he could (they were almost the same height actually, which Noctis had never noticed before). 

“Fine! I’m not crazy. There.” He held his gaze steady the entire time. Meeting his father’s stare.

Regis was momentarily taken aback. Noctis had never spoken to him like that before. But hen, he stepped away, tossing his hand in disgust. “Oh, please, Noct. Spare me. You’re not crazy? How could you even think for a second you’re in your right mind right now…”

Irritated by such a brush off, Noctis rounded again. “Dad. What the fuck are you even saying—”

Regis spun around as if that were a direct challenge. For the first time in all of Noctis’s memory, he started shouting. “What am I— _what the fuck am I saying?_ ” 

The sound of his screams echoed through the estate. Foreign. Like voice of a stranger. 

“Noctis! You were just standing there before half of London in a….” Regis pinched his face in vehemence. “… _bloody_ dress! With _criminals_! Like…like something I don’t even understand! And you don’t think that’s crazy?!” 

Noctis shrugged petulantly. “No.” 

“Tch!” Regis shook his head over and over. “You’re…I don’t understand, Noct.” His eyes filled with indescribable pain. “You’re nothing like the boy I raised. What…what’s happened to you, son? What’s wrong. Tell me, is it…? That man…or…someone else? What…?” 

He stumbled over his words. Completely at a loss. Grayer and frailer than Noctis had ever seen.

Time to tell him the truth. There was no more sense in hiding it anymore. Not when Regis had seen Viola for himself. Whether or not he knew who she was.

“It’s because…” Noctis took a deep breath. He felt so weird saying this. Like it was wrong to admit somehow. But he had to. He had to get through it so that Regis knew. So that he could take the facts and do what he wanted with them.

Noctis replayed Ardyn’s speech in his head: _You’ll always be perfect in my eyes. Do you understand?_

Those words steeled him. Helped him get through the next part.

“It’s because I’m not a boy, Dad. I’m not a man. I’m not your son. I’m…something else. Like…how I feel. I’m not ‘male’ all the time. …You know?” 

Regis narrowed his eyes. “…Explain.” 

“It’s like…” Oh god, this was so difficult to describe! Why did some people, those closest to him, understand when others simply never would? “…It’s like sometimes I’m okay just being myself. Noctis, whatever. But sometimes I’m…not. There’s this whole other part of me. A really big part of who I am is…a woman.”

Regis ran his eyes all over Noctis’s body. Clearly picturing his son in the dress he’d seen that afternoon. It almost felt like a violation. Then he defiantly shook his head. Refusing to see the picture right in front of his face.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” The older man rubbed his forehead and sighed. The quintessential put-upon English gentleman.

“But…it does. To me.” Why couldn’t Regis see that this was Noctis’s soul? That he was laying everything on the line here?

Regis held his hands in front of his face. Like trying to wrap his hands around something invisible that he just couldn’t seem to control. “It doesn’t. It’s utter…modern _nonsense_. Men are men and women are women. That’s the way it is! There’s no other alternative, Noct.” 

“Okay fine!” Noctis shrugged in defeat. “Then I’m a woman, if I have to pick one! My name is Viola and I’m in love with a man named—”

“Silence!” 

The word fell upon Noctis like a slap to the face. Like the remaining bricks in his fragile house falling in on him. The fact that Regis would just…silence him…

“Don’t speak like that in this house, Noctis. I never want to hear that again. It’s depraved and…unbefitting someone of your station.” Regis sighed. He was weary down to the bone now. “Pack your things. You’re going to the Alps first thing in the morning. I…think you do need a doctor, Noctis. Sooner rather than later.” 

So that was it.

The end of their relationship. A severing of the bond. The last time father and son would see each other as such.

Noctis’s heart closed in on itself. A protection mechanism more than anything. 

“No, I’m not, Dad.” Noctis slung the packed bag over his shoulder. “I’m…just going to leave. I’m going somewhere far away and…I won’t ever be back.” 

Regis turned his back. He chose instead to stare loftily at one of the extravagant Romantic paintings on the wall. 

“Just go then.” 

“…Fine.” Now the tears swelled to the surface. To be told, literally that Noctis was better off out there in the world instead of at home. It wasn’t a harsh rejection—nothing dramatic or poignant. Just…final. Cold. Tired. 

Sick and tired. That’s what Regis was of Noctis at this point. And Noctis heard that loud and clear. He’d never forget how it sounded.

As he walked out the door, Noctis turned around one more time. “Goodbye, Dad.”

Regis said nothing. The clock ticked noisily on the wall.

So Noctis left. 

The hansom cab was still waiting around the back. Noctis made sure to tip the guy a little extra when they arrived at the train station.

______________________________________________

_Central London Train Station_  
_5 April 1857  
_ _Thursday - Night_

“Alright, listen carefully.” 

Ignis stood in front of Noctis, Ardyn, and Ulldor with a booklet of tickets in one hand. He had planned an entire itinerary for them. Top to bottom. Luckily, they all managed to meet at the train station on time. Noctis with his one tiny leather bag. Ardyn and Ulldor with a large suitcase and a…lumpy sack filled with various valuables from Engheld. The sack itself appeared to be a rug turned upside down and tied. “So we can sell the carpet last when everything else it gone,” Ardyn explained casually. 

Made sense. 

“First, you’re going to take this train to Sussex. Straight to shore, you hear?” Ignis held up the tickets in example. God only knew where he got the money for all this. “Then you’re going to take a boat. The first skipper out of Worthing. That’ll take you to Spain. San Sebastian is the port.” Ignis took a deep breath. “So then you’re out of the country at least.” 

“Then we sail for Victoria,” Ulldor finished for him. “Got a bit o’ land back home with my name on it. Been missing it, tell you the truth.” 

Ardyn nodded in complete agreement. “Yes. From Spain, we will book passage to Australia. Reedy Harbour in Victoria, to be specific. After that it’s a short journey to our ranches a few miles out. Caligo’s and mine.” 

He turned to Noctis with a confident grin. “Looks like we’ll be making a living down under, Noct. Is that alright with you?”

…Actually Noctis was deeply fascinated by the idea of seeing Ardyn’s ranch. His home. Australia, the place of all the stories.

Noctis had a feeling—if the bush was really anything like Ardyn described—he might take to it very well. 

“Sounds like a reasonable plan.” Ignis nodded. Satisfied.

“And I suppose…” Aranea stomped up to them. Stepping off a hanson cab that was just pulling away. She carried a tiny black blag of her own. “…you assholes are just going to leave without me, then? That’s rude. Real rude, I’d say!”

“Ah, Miss Highwind.” Ardyn held his arms out amicably. “Are you planning on joining us?”

She dropped her bag on top of their suitcase. A clear intent to stay. “Damn right! What would you guys do without me? Who would do all the cooking? Can’t live off steak sandwiches and brandy!” (Actually they had, for quite a while now, but. Point taken.) “And who would fit Miss Gainsborough into those lovely dresses? Not any of you know how to tie a corset properly…”

“Yes, I anticipated you would be going along, Miss Highwind,” Ignis explained. “That’s why I booked four sets of tickets.” 

Noctis paused. “…What, four? But…” That math didn’t add up. “What about you, Iggy?”

Here, Ignis cringed. “I must stay here.”

“What?!” Noctis leapt into Ignis arms, grabbing him by the collar. Losing his father and Ignis in one night?! How could he be expected to deal with all of this right away?! “We need you Iggy! I need you…”

The others stared at Ignis curiously. Sad to lose him in their own respects.

Ignis adjusted his glasses with a shaky hand. He nodded. “It…pains me so to leave you, Noct. I would come if I could, in a heartbeat I would join you all, but…someone must remain to cover your tracks. To divert any police presence from your trail. To tie up the loose ends that are left behind in your absence…” Ignis looked at Noctis with pain in his eyes. “That person must be me.”

In truth, no one else could do that job the way Ignis could. So his words rang true. Hard to hear, but true. 

“How long?” It was the only question that mattered to Noctis. How long before they could write to him? Before they could send for him and ask him to move out to Australia with all of them—

“I cannot say.” Ignis was being very honest. “But write to me always. I’ll keep you informed of what’s going on. In secret if I have to.” 

Noctis hugged Ignis harder than he’d ever hugged anyone before in his life. He couldn’t fathom a life without Ignis, but…there were no other choices now. This was his path. In some ways it been chosen for him. In other ways, Noctis had been choosing this path all the while.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Noctis insisted. “Not even a little bit! You’re coming with us! When…when you can. Okay, you got that?”

“Certainly, sir. Understood.” There was definite wetness in Ignis’s eyes. Noctis’s too. 

Then it was time for boarding. Their imminent departure.

Ignis hugged them all as they parted. He gave them all words of wisdom or a parting phrase to remember him by. To Ardyn, it was pretty clear he offered up a threat. Noctis’s safety. Or a life spent jumping at shadows, waiting for Ignis to strike. 

“Well noted, my good man,” Ardyn answered. He tipped his hat at the valet (it wasn’t a top hat. Not a bowler either. Something else. I sort of…strange shaped hat. Colonial?) in recognition. 

Noctis held onto Ignis until the very last second. 

“Thank you,” he cried. “Thank you so much Iggy, I love you. You’re my brother.”

“Yes, I know Noct. And you are mine. But now you must leave before you miss your train and all my planning is ruined.”

Ardyn ushered Noctis away. Into a private cabin booked for four. 

Only when the train began to move did it become real. This was goodbye. Goodbye to London at least. Noctis did not know if he’d ever return.

At this point? Probably not.

____________________________________________

_On a train heading south_  
_6 April 1857  
_ _Friday - Morning_

“You know, Noct…” Ardyn and Noctis were pressed together tightly on the train. Noctis’s head on Ardyn’s shoulder. Tucked in a place he didn’t want to leave. The one thing didn’t have to give up.

“…Yeah?” Noctis’s voice was as exhausted as he was. Emotionally, physically. Everything.

Ardyn sighed. Luckily Aranea and Ulldor were asleep, because…he needed to say this soon. Before the guilt weighed on him anymore. 

“I would have definitely killed Iedolas if you hadn’t stopped me.” 

There. Finally. The truth was out. Expunged! Ardyn could breathe again. He needed Noctis to know exactly what he’d done for him. For them. For the world, really. One less senseless death. 

The boy was practically a hero. At least in Ardyn’s reckoning of things.

“…Yeah. I know.” This was not news to Noctis. He knew that if he hadn’t stepped, in Iedolas would almost certainly be dead and Ardyn would be sitting in jail. Again. 

He’d accepted that.

And even though he’d made a choice that eclipsed all other choices, set his life on a path from which there was no return, Noctis could honestly admit one thing to himself: He did not regret his choice to stop Ardyn. Ardyn needed to be stopped. And Ardyn himself was grateful for being saved from that additional sin. Real murder. No redemption from that.

“…Thank you, Noct.” 

Noctis didn’t think they were ready to go through the list of thanks and debts. Everyone they owed and for what. Escaping London was the most intense experience of his life. None of it would have been possible without every single one of them. They needed each other. As family did.

Noctis’s only family now.

“I love you,” he said to Ardyn. He hoped that from there, all debts were paid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I think you guys see how this fic is going to end now :) Next chapter is a little bit of an epilogue? Some things left to cover before we wrap this up ;).
> 
> Also, some information on nonbinary ('genderfluid') genders: Since this chapters goes deep into how Noctis identifies, I thought it would be good to hear a person who identifies that way give some explanations on it! :) So [here's Riley J. Dennis talking about what it means to be a nonbinary woman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkZnFVbSKKo)! 
> 
> Ahhh guys tbh this chapter took a big chunk out of my heart. I just wanted to share that chunk with all of you lovely people!! <3 <3 So I did ;)


	14. The letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new life is built. With purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Australian outback is rich with culture and history. I don’t think there is any hope of me accurately capturing that in this short epilogue, so I’m going to [put a link to some paintings and poetry](https://tracts4free.wordpress.com/australian-bush-poetry-1/) by someone who spent a lot of time drawing inspiration from this land. Unfortunately the European settlers also have a history of displacing indigenous peoples. Once again, this epilogue does not go into that in the kind of detail it deserves. So, if you’re interested in learning about the Aboriginals who are native to this land (people whose culture is celebrated to this day), [take a look here](https://www.britannica.com/topic/Australian-Aboriginal#ref256935%20%0A). 
> 
> Also, for reference, [here is a picture](https://assets.atdw-online.com.au/images/db58a04fc1c15808960d964f8f5fe378.jpeg?rect=285,0,2049,1537&w=800&h=600) of what Ardyn’s ranch might look like (I kind of love how there’s just a kangaroo there, chilling. Pretty amazing.)

**Epilogue: The letters**

_Reedy Harbor, Victoria  
_ _16 September 1857  
_ _Sunday - Morning_

The journey to Victoria was long. Every step of the way they encountered collections of hardships. Setbacks in Spain. They had to wait around for some months before the next ship that would bear them to Australia. Noctis tried to like Spain, but…he was ill at ease. Always looking over his shoulder for the London runners to come take them away. 

His father’s men, specifically. They knew no borders or boundaries. They would drag Noctis back to the Citadel and from there his father would ship him off to the Alps…where God only knew what awaited him…

“It’s alright, my love,” Ardyn tried to assure Noctis. “Whatever men your father dredged up will have to pry you from my fingers first.” He managed a wistful smile. “And I doubt there is any chance of that. Don’t you?” 

Noctis’s hair was growing back. But he had lost a fair bit of weight. Ever watchful. Missing Ignis horribly. Torn over his haphazard departure from London. The strangeness of it all.

Noctis was keeping Viola under wraps for now. Safer that way. Less need for artifice. (Besides, no one knew them in Spain.) But that too, being ‘Noctis’ for a long stretch of time, frayed his nerves. 

He stayed close to Ardyn’s side and pretended he was fine. He just needed to look to the near future…that’s all…make it out of Europe…

Boarding the ship bound for Reedy Harbor was a relief like he’d never known before. The wooden planks under his feet echoed with the promise of freedom. Of course, Noctis had never been on a ship that size, or for nearly that long, before (he’d crossed the English channel a few times here and there, that’s all!). But the ocean breeze. The sun high above. Watching the shore disappear behind them…these were like medicine to Noctis’s mangled soul. 

A new beginning. A real future. Away from everything he hated, the trappings of his life…

Noctis closed his eyes and breathed the fresh sea air. He was headed towards a new life. One that was entirely his own. 

Ardyn seemed less thrilled with the prospect of being sea-bound. He sat almost entirely above deck. Soaking up the sun until his skin turned delightfully toasted. Some nights he refused entirely to go to sleep below deck. He much preferred to idle against the rails of the ship. Watching the sea. Playing cards with Caligo and speaking almost exclusively in flash. 

Caligo too seemed content to stay in the fresh air. Be it morning or night.

“Served out and out, that swell mollisher was?” Caligo mumbled, speaking in tones (and terms) only Ardyn could understand. 

Nodding, Ardyn put down some cards. They were playing a game whose rules were unknown outside the convict’s yard in the Hyde Park Barracks. “A jacketing concern,” Ardyn elaborated. “Fair bridged, she posts.” 

“How so?” Caligo sucked on a toothpick, swapping it from side to side in his mouth. “That cove what knapped a jacob in a danna-drag?” 

“Indeed.”

“Mmm.” 

Noctis would watch them play sometimes, passing the time, low-key fascinated by the types of things they did and said to each other. But Ardyn and Caligo always got quieter when Noctis was in earshot. Ardyn would break into a grin and return to regular speech. As if he tried not to speak flash where his lover could hear. 

Being aboard a ship bound for Australia brought up the kind of memories they would both like to leave buried in the past. Surrounded by people who would have treated them like cattle had they been wearing the yellow and black striped clothes of London criminals. Flash was their haven. A solidarity Ardyn and Caligo shared that protected them from the bristling rage and sadness of that former life. It was plain to see.

Noctis wished he could tell them that he didn’t care. He would listen to them speak flash all day, not understand a single word, and not be bothered in the slightest. He kind of…liked it, actually. He knew it was the language of criminals. But it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. 

In Ardyn’s voice, the flash talk sounded like poetry. 

“Something you needed, Noct?” Ardyn would offer grandly when Noctis edged closer to their card game. 

“…No. No, I’m good.” 

Times like that, Noctis would wander back to Aranea and leave them to their own devices. “Just leave them, miss,” Aranea whispered to Noctis. “Let them have their little moment or whatever. Men do enjoy their conversations.”

It seemed she knew well enough what they were discussing. And she did not approve.

Noctis felt out of the loop. But he didn’t want to intrude, either. Maybe it would take time before Ardyn felt comfortable showing that part of himself to Noctis. The flash part. After all, the facade of the gentleman had well and truly dissolved in the past few months. Every time Ardyn sold off another artifact from Engheld without a care in the world. 

No gentleman would discard his family’s history in good conscience like that. Ardyn, however, seemed almost happy to be rid of the stuff. His eyes burned facetiously every time his sack of treasures got a little bit lighter. Noctis knew better than to ask why. 

The one question Noctis did ask, however, was one he had been keeping to himself for quite some time. He asked it on a cool night sitting above deck with his lover in the calm moonlight. They were holding hands under the table, away from the eyes of any late-night stragglers. For the most part they were alone.

“Why do you hate cold water so much?” Noctis asked. This little quirk of Ardyn’s had become more apparent every time some ocean spray splashed him on the arm or in the face and he started like he had been walloped by a brigand. 

“Hnnh.” Ardyn brushed the bangs away from his darkened face. His skin tanned so well! Like it had just been waiting for the sun’s kiss. Dying to unearth its true colors. “It’s nothing so fascinating, darling.” 

“I know…” Noctis watched the surface of the ocean. Uneven and rough. Unpredictable. “I just want to know. That’s all.” 

Ardyn was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he began. 

“In New South Wales,” (no need to elaborate where exactly, this was in reference to the prison colony, which Noctis knew to steel himself for. The closer they got to Australia, the realer this past became. Until prison began to feel like a shared history of theirs.) “We were not permitted to bathe at regular intervals. Sometimes it would be days, or even weeks. Months, on occasion. And a bath for us was not much. They would give each ward a few buckets of lukewarm water and we would have to improvise.” 

Noctis cradled Ardyn’s hand in both of his own. He could only imagine how foul those barracks must have been. Men working hard labor all day without a chance to get fresh clothes or wash properly. Not great.

“When we worked outdoors,” Ardyn sighed and adjusted himself in his seat. “Sometimes the smell became overpowering. I’ll admit this as much as the next man. So. The prison guards would sometimes….” He gestured with his free hand. “…take it upon themselves to handle the matter. Throwing a bucket of freezing cold water on us as we toiled. The water chilled you to the bone and then you had to work in wet clothes for the rest of the day. Until the sun dried you off. Which happened quickly enough, fortunately. It was more the…surprise. I hardly ever saw it coming, I’m afraid.” He chuckled humorlessly.

There was more to that story that Ardyn was not telling. Noctis had learned how to read between the lines. Probably the guards served up some ridicule along with their buckets of cold water. There were also probably some men who took ill because of the shock to the system. Perishably so, maybe. 

Noctis nodded seriously. “…Got it.” 

He was happy Ardyn told him the truth. Although, by this point, Noctis wondered if they’d ever be able to really lie to each other again. After saving each other’s lives several times over. Sharing the past, present, and future as they did. 

Most likely, they were leaving all the lies behind in London.

Noctis was happy to be rid of them.

————————————

Their arrival in Victoria was…was…well. Impossible to describe. 

Noctis stood gaping at the city of Bendigo. It was almost as grand as London! Tall buildings, caravans transporting hordes of people to and fro, markets and sellers. People in suits and dresses—this was a place where people truly lived. Noctis was completely floored. He had thought London was the heart of the world, the only place where civilized people reigned. But here….there were hundreds—probably thousands!—of people as well! Unconcerned with the daily gossip that littered the streets of Knightsbridge and Rotten Row. 

Living their own lives.

Noctis was mesmerized. He wanted to have what these people had. Choices. Decisions made on a daily basis of how you wanted to live your life! How to survive, chiefly. Clearly many of the people here were laborers or farmers.

As the four of them boarded a caravan for the outback, Noctis kept his eyes glued on their surroundings. He wanted to watch the city give way to wildlife. The buildings fade into short grass and scattered trees. Mountains in the distance. Reddish brown dirt and shrubs. 

Endless. The Australian wilderness was utterly endless.

“Do you like it, my dear?” Ardyn whispered as they encroached upon his ranch. 

“….yeah.” Noctis turned to look at him. “It’s incredible.” 

____________________________________________

_Several miles outside of Bendigo_  
_17 September 1857  
_ _Monday - Morning_

While Ardyn and Caligo were away, they had entrusted their ranch houses to their closest friends. These men were all acquaintances from New South Wales. They assured Ardyn and Caligo that the ranches were still intact. But the food had all spoiled, of course, and their cupboards were bare. They also warned about any stray ‘dingos’ or ‘wallabies’ that might have taken up roost. 

As the caravan dropped them off outside Ardyn’s ranch in the mid-September daylight, Noctis felt a sense of harsh realism overtake him. This house…it was hardly more than a couple of red-painted wooden planks strewn together. A slapdash roof of metal sheeting over the top. A brick chimney on the outside that did not match the decor. A run down barn around the back. Devoid of any farm or stable equipment. A dusty porch covered in a layer of dirt from being unswept for several years. 

…It was perfect. 

The house was bursting with Ardyn’s aura. It _felt_ like him. This was _his._ Carelessly construed and yet somehow impossibly sturdy. Rugged. Free. A lone piece of civilization surrounded on all sides by nature—a wilderness as desolate as it was thriving. A contradiction. Waiting to be lived in.

This place was Ardyn. Down to a science. 

“Stay here,” Ardyn warned, forging ahead to inspect the inside of his house. “I might have to chase out some unfortunate squatters.” 

Noctis clasped Aranea’s hand as they waited for Ardyn to come back. Caligo walked up the hill to his own house, ready to do much the same. They lived within walking distance of each other, but from here Caligo’s house looked like a grayish dot on a hill. The distance between things was hard to discern in the outback, Noctis realized. Since there were no relative points. Caligo’s house was…over there. Next to that…curly tree? Past that third patch of brown grass? Hard to accurately measure, obviously.

“Out with you. Out! Now, don’t be greedy. You’ve stayed here long enough.” 

A thin four-legged creature emerged from the front door of Ardyn’s ranch. It had a long snout like a dog, but it was far too tall for anything tame. And it had an interesting array of spots along its rump. Ardyn was herding it—along with two or three pups—out of his house. 

“Ah, dingos,” he exclaimed, watching the wild dogs trot off into the distance. “They’ll make their home anywhere. The mystery of life!” 

Ardyn stretched languidly. He did not seem upset or agitated by the animals—in fact, he seemed relaxed in the extreme, happy to be home. But he was also tiptoeing around the…less attractive parts of life in the bush. Not wanting to put Noctis off for any reason. 

Aranea scrunched her nose in distaste. She shook out her leg, attempting to rid it of any dust. To no avail. “So, I’m guessing this is the luxury treatment…” she sniped.

Ardyn scratched his head and laughed. “Why, we can make it better I think!” He retrieved a broom from inside and quickly swept his porch. Flinging dirt into the surrounding wild. Then he laid down the carpet he pilfered from Engheld, right in the doorway. It’s Georgian floral pattern did not match the rugged ranch in the slightest, but. It looked…nice.

Bowing at the waist, Ardyn threw the door open for them. “Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Gainsborough. Miss Highwind. Please. Won’t you come in?”

Viola giggled happily. She took Ardyn’s hand in the doorway and curtsied in her trousers. “With pleasure, sir.” 

The inside of the ranch was filthy. Excrement from the dingos and other remnants of wildlife littered the corners. The bedsheets needed a good washing (probably several). Ardyn’s acquaintances had ensured that no other settlers laid claim to the place. But they had not even tried to keep the place livable.

That was entirely up to Ardyn and Viola now. 

She was fine with this. Of course, she had never worked a hard day of physical labor in her life. Not so much as hand washed one single cravat. But. The prospect of cleaning this place out and making it their home…it excited her. She was invigorated with the promise of a place they could call theirs. Well and truly. No one else’s. No lies or artifice. Just theirs. 

“Let’s get to work, then.” 

Ardyn and Aranea exchanged surprised glances as the former son of Lord Caelum picked up a broom and began sweeping in earnest.

The world down under Australia was called. More like the world turned upside down. 

For now, in all the right ways. 

_________________________________

_Several miles outside of Bendigo  
_ _24 October 1857  
_ _Wednesday - Morning_

“Why don’t you keep animals?” Viola asked one day. 

Caligo laughed at that. “Bluey said the same thing when he first saw this place.” He stuck a piece of jerky in his mouth. “No good reason, I guess. Just. Wouldn’t know how to handle them.”

Viola considered that. She was naturally inclined to disagree.

———————-

They had finally settled their new home. The floors were as clean as they could get them. The bedrooms were neat. The fireplace worked quite well now. They lived off the nature. Everything they needed they got from the outback itself. When they needed to eat, Ardyn picked up his rifle and shot down food for their meals. When they needed firewood, Ardyn picked up his axe, cut down a sapling and chopped it into kindling. 

Caligo taught them how to clean an animal’s carcass and use it for meat. From there, Aranea figured out how to work the ovens. Now she was teaching Viola how to cook. It was a very useful skill. 

These days, Aranea chose to spend much of her time in town. She did not love the wilderness the way Viola did—Viola’s Sussex blood reveled in the open air—nor did she care for the idleness the way Ardyn did—unhurried by modern struggles. Aranea was currently staying with them at the ranch, but she was looking for her own lodgings in Bendigo. Sometimes Viola went with her into town. They perused the shops for Victoria’s latest fashions 

Parasols were all the rage. Viola bought a lacy one for herself but hardly ever used it. She had left London’s dreadful fog behind! Now she wanted to bask in the sun. 

As soon as their ranch became livable, Viola made the decision to live as a woman. Full-time. Her hair was long enough now that it could be styled into a hat or a bonnet. She had brought her linen dress and the purple dress from London. Beyond that, she was more than willing to buy outfits from the local stores in Victoria. To fit in with all the other women here. Pioneer clothing was a little simpler to put on. No cage crinoline, no corsets. Viola could put it on without Aranea’s assistance (which was becoming more and more a reality).

This was their dream. Noctis’s. Viola’s. To live as a modern woman. No one knew her as Noctis here. No. The best part? Ardyn introduced Viola to his friends as his wife.

“You got hitched in London, Bluey?” One of Ardyn’s friends, a Scottish man with a portly belly named Peter, asked. “Ain’t that a shock!”

“Can’t say as I saw it coming either,” another friend said, elbowing Ardyn shamelessly. The man’s name was William. He was a black man with a Cockney accent who seemed several years Ardyn’s junior.

William turned to Viola. “You sure you want this one, love?” He giggled. “Plenty of other fish in the sea, ain’t there? Some a bit younger I reckon!” 

They all laughed at that. Viola thought it was a mean-spirited joke, making fun of their age difference, but apparently not. That was just the kind of humor these men shared. And Ardyn laughed in good nature. 

“Bet you’re locking your doors at night, Bluey,” Peter teased. “Making sure your pretty wife ain’t trying to run off on you.” 

Grinning wickedly, Ardyn shook his head. “My doors are always open, I’m afraid. Though, keep in mind gentlemen, that is not an invitation.” 

They howled at such an implication. 

Viola giggled as well. Men were not nearly as delicate around women out here. That aside, they seemed completely unsuspicious of Viola’s claim to be a woman.

She passed. They passed. It was marvelous. 

“I’m your wife now?” Viola asked Ardyn one day. She wasn’t angered at all that Ardyn had chosen to call her such, even though he hadn’t asked first. “When did that happen?”

“Hmm?” Ardyn raised an eyebrow, pulling Viola into a hug. Their hugs were laden with sweat and grim these days. A natural side effect of living in nature. It was wonderful. “You sound as though this is a new development.” 

“Isn’t it?” Viola wrapped her arms around Ardyn’s neck, bending into the embrace. “I don’t remember reciting any vows in London.” 

Ardyn chuckled darkly. “You may not have committed to me in a church, my love, but I do recall laying claim to your maidenhood. Many, many times over.” 

Laughing—thrilled at the idea, fucking crazy, but she loved it—Viola kissed Ardyn’s chapped lips. Hers were just as chapped. “Oh so that’s the same as the holy rite of matrimony, is it?” 

“I believe so, yes.” Ardyn kissed her knuckles patronizingly. Eyes wild with joy.

“Very well then.” Viola hiked up her skirts and wrapped one leg around Ardyn’s waist. “It’s time we renewed our vows, I think. Just to make sure.” 

“Nightly, my dear?”

“Yes. At least.”

Ardyn threw his head back and stared mistily at the ceiling of their ranch. “Oh, Viola darling. You will be the very death of me. I am but one man, after all. How can I handle such dire needs at every hour of the day…?”

“Tch.” Viola pulled him into a kiss. She could feel how hard he was, even though they had already made love once that morning. “I think you’ll manage.”

“I shall have to.” Lifting her by the waist, Ardyn carried his bride to their marriage bed.“My wife commands it.” 

It was a simple matter of words, really. ‘Woman.’ ‘Pretty.’ ‘Young lady.’ ‘Wife.’ Viola had not changed physically from her time in London until now. But. Those words made all the difference. They were everything. 

Ardyn’s love. Freely given. Naming her as she wanted to be named. 

It was everything.

____________________________________

_The Ranch  
_ _1857_

When life in Victoria settled into a natural rhythm, Viola began writing letters. She wrote to Ignis first. Addressing to the servants quarters in the Citadel. She did not know if Ignis was still living there, and her anxiety about her valet’s fate made her hands sweat as she held the pen. What if Ignis had been thrown in jail in her stead…? What if he was in dire straits, cast into ruin by Regis? What if…?

But the only way to know was to write him. To let him write her back. To open the doors to the truth and see what happened.

So she did. She wrote a three page letter and told Ignis everything. Their journey every step of the way.

And of course, she signed it in her new hand. The hand Ardyn had taught her to use. Her name: ‘Viola Gainsborough Izunia.’ 

(Another way to say her name? ‘Noctis Lucis Caelum.’ It had a certain ring to it, but. Better to go by Viola’s full name when she was addressing letters to the Citadel.) 

She also wrote to Lunafreya. She thanked her so much for her help that day at the boat race, she wanted Luna to know that it had not gone unnoticed. Not at all. She apologized profusely for putting Luna in that awkward spot. Surely not just once but many times after that. Then she told Luna about herself. 

She tried to explain how it was. Being Viola. The fact that Viola had always existed inside their heart, but it wasn’t until Noctis experimented with his tastes that he finally acknowledged her. And once she was acknowledged she could not be silenced. She had existed since they were children. And being Viola was like taking a breath after being underwater for too long. A ring of clarity. Of sanity. A cease to the endless unhappiness and itchiness Noctis felt every day of his life. They didn’t need to challenge anyone when they were Viola. To break every rule. All they needed to do was live.

And living was indeed its own challenge.

When they were finished writing to Luna, Viola sat down and wrote to Prompto. They apologized again. They told Prompto they loved him. And they gave Prompto their blessing—more like, a kick in the ass—to court Luna seriously. Since he obviously wanted to. And Luna did not have her prospects in order to begin with now that Noctis was out of the picture. Besides, Viola did not believe Prompto’s relationship with Cindy would last very much longer. She seemed to prefer the company of women. And that was a life she should pursue in its own right. Which meant Prompto needed to find happiness of his own. 

Viola knew how happy Prompto would be with Luna. They also knew how happy he could make Luna. It was a wonderful match. 

But they could only express their feelings in writing. 

They also explained to Prompto that they had taken in a few horses. Viola planned to raise them and eventually breed them. She wanted the ranch’s farm to become useful. A place to raise horses, perhaps a place where people would come to buy and trade horses. A horse farm. Loving and profitable.

Ardyn loved the idea. As did Caligo. They promised to help however they could. (Right now, their income came from whatever odd jobs Ardyn took on and the remaining artifacts they sold.) Ardyn said he had a few connections with farmers around the bush. So. They took on a few Thoroughbreds.

Viola explained to Prompto that she named all the horses. Every single one that passed through the gate of their stable. She wanted to treat them all like creatures with their own personalities. It was her belief that horses could be treated as such. And her Sussex grandparents would surely have approved.

Or so she hoped. She asked after Quartz as well, but didn’t much want to hear the story if it was not a happy one. She missed the stallion quite a bit. Hopefully Regis was putting his animals to good use.

Viola considered writing a letter to Daniel Threshton and Evelyn Beasly. She wanted to congratulate them still, after all. But she did not want her contact with them to turn them into a pariah. Especially since she did not know…how they felt about the entire situation. Now that Noctis’s identity had been revealed. 

In the end, it felt rude not to send some kind of word. So Viola wrote them both identical letters. They read: “Congratulations on your recent courtship. You have my sincerest wishes. Be happy. Yours, Viola Gainsborough.” 

Good enough.

She debated for a moment whether or not to write Regis. Should she tell her father where she was? Assuage any worries he might have for their welfare? It was the right thing to do, as a son. But…

…She remembered the last words they shared. ‘Just go then.’ Regis was not looking for her. And if he was, it was to bind her in a sack and carry her back to the Alps. Except, she felt in a way that Regis was past the point where he even cared enough to do that. 

He had washed his hands of them.

So…no letter was needed, then. That was fine. Viola’s contacts in London were the people she could rely on. That was enough.

Now she would have to wait for their replies.

___________________________________________________

_The Ranch  
_ _1858_

The first reply Viola received was from Lunafreya. Peter delivered the letters from the postoffice in town, as he always did for Ardyn. 

She opened the letter with shaking hands. The bedroom was the only place she could read such a letter. Sitting on her bed and pouring over every word from Luna. 

It read:

_Dearest Viola,_

_To begin, thank you. Thank you so very much. Your letter brought me the greatest relief. I hope you believe me when I say that I think of you often. Nearly every day in fact! Although it’s been nearly a year since your disappearance, I have always wondered exactly where you went off to. If you are happy._

_And now I read that you are. This pleases me in the extreme. I am astounded, naturally (Australia, my dear! How dangerous and exciting!). But so very pleased for you!_

_That day at the boat race. Well, I suppose we should talk about it. Except…I don’t want you to feel any guilt whatsoever. Not even a small bit, do you hear me? I see now that you were living a double life. Laden with secrets you did not think you could share with anyone. Shrouding yourself in mystery to protect the life you wanted to live. I understand why. Prompto tells me he knew, though, which I admit does cut a little. You could have come to me with the truth. I would have given you whatever support possible…although, thinking about it rationally, I have no idea what I could have offered you. At the time you were learning these truths about yourself, I was also fraught with my own troubles. Struggles that I too thought I could share with no one._

_I will share them with you now._

_I never wanted to marry. That is the Lord’s honest truth. I told myself for years that marriage was the best path I could take. The way to an easy, simple life. But. As I met suitor after suitor—including you, my dear—I realized that I am…unfit to marry anyone. I don’t know if unfit is the right word. I still struggle putting words to the predicament I find myself in. My heart does not wish to wed. I am fully capable of it. But instead I want to meet new people. I want to see the ins and outs of this world. Ways of life I never thought possible. People—in all varieties—excite me more than any prospect ever could! And I have since gone down a path completely foreign even to myself._

_I met and fell in love with a woman. I’m sure you know this already, but. I need to write it down. The words themselves are a type of freedom. Cindy and I met at the Eckhart’s ball. We carried on an affair for some time afterwards. One that continues to this day. She has shown me…marvelous things. She is content to wear men’s clothes in her spare time. Sometimes she encourages me to do the same! Not often, but. Trousers are a good bit of fun! Quite comfortable and practical. I’m not the same as Cindy, but she can persuade me into breeches when the mood is right._

_I am also in love with a dashing young man. You know him well enough. Prompto, of course. He’s so charming, so wonderful. He discovered Cindy and myself one night when we were together and he…well. He has become an integral part of what we have. He’s gentle and kind with me, like no man has ever been. He considers my feelings (and Cindy’s feelings) above all else. He is a paragon for mankind, I believe. I adore him._

_Of course I understand how you would be completely baffled by this. Being in love with two people at once. I don’t understand it myself! Perhaps it is against the laws of nature and everything decent, but. It doesn’t feel that way to me. To me it feels wonderful. Sharing a relationship between three people. It’s pure and good. Please believe that. I…have a feeling you might understand. And if you don’t then I beg you not to judge me or Prompto or Cindy too harshly. We are people who want to find peace in the world just as anyone might._

_As for your own predicament. I hope it doesn’t sound strange, but I was not overly shocked when you explained your true feelings. They made quite a bit of sense to me._

_When we were children playing in the forest near my chateau (do you remember?), we would often play one game in particular. I don’t know if you remember. You could barely walk at the time. But your eyes were so lively. And your love for this game was so palpable that I could feel it every time we played. We would wander the meadow and pretend to be wood nymphs. Do you recall this at all? We would thread flowers in our hair and walk about throwing flower petals here and there. Pretending to spread the good will of nature. My favorite part was climbing the trees and throwing down leaves to you, leaves that had been touched by sunlight. Since you could not climb yourself._

_But your favorite part, my dear, was weaving the flowers into my hair. I showed you how to tie a braid and, well. That was it. All you wanted to do was thread flowers into my hair and call me the queen of the forest._

_Once I asked you: If I was the queen, would you like to be the princess? Your eyes lit up and you nodded. So pure and happy._

_Not long after that your father took you back to London. You were healed enough. When you returned to France the following summer, we were too old for such childish things. But I never forgot that game. Not even now as a young woman. I remember so vividly those charming afternoons in the forest. Even though I was a child—or perhaps,_ _because_ _I was a child—I had a feeling that I was playing with another little girl. Almost like a sister. Or one of the other little girls at my boarding school. I saw you that way for a long time. When we exchanged letters through the years, I looked for this little girl. Sometimes I found her. In your words, or on your face. But I never mentioned this to you because I thought it was strange. And I did not want to be insulting!_

_Now, though, after everything that’s come to pass. I hope you take comfort in my silly memories. I hope you understand that Viola is an old friend of mine. And I would very much like to meet her in person, again, some day soon. So that we can laugh together like we did as children—now as young women! There is more I’d like to share with you, so much more I want to hear about your experience (and your man! I know nothing of this Mr. Izunia!). But letters are not the proper place to speak of such things. So I will have to wait until we can be reunited, either on your shores or mine._

_I hope this letter finds you safe. Take care, dearest Viola, and do write to me if you can find the time. I’d love to correspond as we used to._

_Yours forever,  
_ _Luna_

By the time she was finished reading, Viola was crying openly. Luna’s words touched her heart. Of course she remembered that embarrassing game they had played in the forests of the French countryside; she thought that Luna had forgotten! In fact for a long time she hoped Luna had. It was so weird, right? But to hear that Luna not only remembered, but cherished the memories. That she had seen Viola long ago. That she knew her. Accepted her. Wanted to be friends in this new light. 

Tears ran down Viola’s face. She raced to her writing desk and picked up a pen to answer Luna right away.

_Dearest Luna,_

_I love you. You are like a sister to me and I cherish what we’ve had together, now and forever…_

Okay this letter was starting to ramble already. Viola put down the pen and figured she’d better get herself together first. Do some drafts. Her words were extremely important right now and she needed to make sense. Luna deserved at least some coherency. (Coherency was not their strong point, admittedly.) 

Beyond that, she was thrilled to hear they were all in a relationship together! Love divided amongst three people. It was quite a modern idea, wasn’t it? But it must be fun. Viola did not think it was so hard to imagine.

She just hoped Prompto was able to keep up with Luna’s expectations for him. Two women to satisfy. He needed to work on his stamina, didn’t he? 

Hmm. Some day she hoped to see Luna and Prompto again. Maybe they could work on their stamina together. Ardyn certainly had much he could teach Prompto in that way, didn’t he?

These were fantastical notions. But they were entertaining.

——————————-

The next reply came from Ignis.

_Madam Gainsborough Izunia,_

_I rejoiced upon receiving your letter. Gladiolus sent it to me forthwith. You see I have taken up lodgings outside the Citadel. I now live in Brompton, near the docks. It’s the most I can afford on my severance pay. Yes, I should explain more about that, of course. But first:_

_My dear, it sounds like you’ve struggled horribly! I wish I could have planned the specifics a little better, especially the transition once you got to Spain. But that night I was so pressed for time it did not even factor into my plans how long it would take for the next ship to Australia to arrive in San Sebastian. Forgive me._

_Beyond that, it sounds as if you’ve settled into your new life rather well. Dingos, you say? Knowing nothing of these wild dogs, I did some research at the local library. My word, they sound frightening. Do be careful, won’t you? I also read about kangaroos. Apparently they are quite vicious! If you happen to encounter one in the wilds, try to back away slowly. If they attack they are capable of disabling a grown man with one kick of their legs. I also learned quite a bit about the variety of spiders native to the Victorian bush…worrying, in a word. I attached a recipe for anti-venom that I suggest you whip up straight away. Write me with any questions. I brewed some here but I cannot test its efficiency without a proper subject. Hopefully we’ll never have to use it._

_How fares Miss Highwind? Is she in good spirits? I can’t imagine the wilderness agrees with her very much. But Bendigo sounds like a lovely city. She will no doubt find a place for herself among the locals, if she hasn’t already!_

_And Ardyn? Is he quite well? I hope he has not encountered any of his dizzy spells recently. Perhaps the Australian air does him good. If not, I attached another recipe for a type of tea the local horticulturist gave me to cure dizziness. Ardyn seems to go into a sort of fugue state—at the worst of times, frankly—and perhaps this tea can help bring him out safely. If your kindness and charm (and patience, I’ll add) should ever fail, madam._

_I pray for Mr. Ulldor’s whereabouts as well. He seems like he would be quite accustomed to the wilderness. Is he taking care of himself, though? He seems just a bit too comfortable eating steak sandwiches and drinking dark liquor all the day long. This can’t be good for a man’s health. Tell him a green leafed vegetable might do him good, if he can find any! Tonic water, too. He should temper his alcohol intake with tonic water. Three fifths of a finger of tonic and he won’t even realize the difference. Inform him of this, won’t you?_

_Now for the details of my life._

_After you left, I returned to my post in the Citadel as if nonethewiser of anything. Regis ordered me to report to him every morning for a litany of duties. Since you were absent, I needed to earn my keep somehow. He did not ask me if I knew about your whereabouts. I suspect he knew that I did._

_But of course I never shared anything with him._

_The police came to the Citadel a few times in the weeks after the boat race. Dreadful affair for his lordship. I was questioned. Actually they seemed chiefly concerned with Ardyn’s whereabouts. Since I was your valet, they asked me if you had told me anything about him. I lied and said I heard Ardyn often spoke of a getaway in Serbia. That he had friends among the Black Hand there. They wrote it all down but I don’t know if they believed me. It’s a fascinating story, though! Lo and behold I saw it printed in the papers the next day. I would have saved the headline for Ardyn—he would have enjoyed it I’m sure—except that would have been rather suspicious._

_Imagine that. Ardyn Lucis with ties to the Serbian underworld. His legend lives on. Be sure to tell him. It might put him in good spirits._

_Other than my few encounters with the police, the commotion of your departure died down within a few months._

_Once, in August of last year, Regis asked me if I knew where you were. His voice was cold, not curious. Matter of fact. Sipping tea, as usual. I said I did not (this was also true, since your first letter arrived in December, so I did not technically know where in the world you had ended up). He sort of grunted at me and then dropped the matter entirely._

_That’s all we ever spoke of it._

_In October, when it became clear you were not returning any time soon, Lord Regis informed me that my position as a valet on his estate was no longer required. He offered me six months severance pay and told me to move out of the servant’s quarters within a week._

_I admit I once had great respect for Lord Regis. I considered him a master worthy of committing my life to. I coveted my job in the Citadel, not only because I could work alongside you but because I could work for a family as upstanding and exemplary as the Caelums. I must also admit that I lost quite a lot of respect for Regis after he ordered me to cut your hair against your wishes. In fact, I would say I hardly saw him as my master after that. So, my dismissal came with very little sense of despair, or even disappointment. Just an air of finality._

_My uncle helped me secure my current lodgings in Brompton. I have gotten many offers from noble families asking to take me on as a valet, but I have turned them all down. I do not wish to be bound to a family just yet. Instead I have taken some part-time work as a manservant for a few men here and there. It pays the bills._

_That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid._

_If you are ready for me, please. Tell me and I will drop everything at once and hasten to Victoria. My life here is nothing so extravagant that I would miss. My only wish is to join you, madam, whenever we can arrange it._

_In the meantime, please write to me as often as you can. Your words temper the monotony of London as it exists without your presence._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Ignis Scientia_

Viola reread Ignis’s letter several times. She thought the story he had told to the police was hilarious. Ardyn would definitely think so too. She tried not to linger too much on her father’s coldness. The way he only asked once if Ignis knew where Noctis might be. Once. Uninterested. Just because perhaps he felt like he needed to. Out of fatherly duty or something.

The pain Viola harbored from her father’s spurning had scabbed over into anger. Resentment. Regis could pretend all he liked that he never had a son, or a daughter or anything! But it didn’t change the truth! 

She was real. She lived. She breathed. He had seen her. He’d _seen_ her! Regis could try to forget the memory of her but it didn’t make her any less valid. Any less of a person. 

She told this to herself again and again.

Regis aside, Ignis’s letter came with great news. Ignis was ready to come live with them! She wrote him immediately and urged him to come as soon as he could. She would meet him in Reedy Harbor and take him to the ranch.

She could not wait for Ignis to see it. 

——————————-

Last came Prompto’s reply. 

_Hey,_

_Wow, I have to say. I really didn’t expect your letter! I thought you’d up and left us for good. But when I saw the name at the bottom and realized it was from you…damn, I am so freaking glad to hear from you!_

_So! Australia, huh? Makes sense! I guess I’m not too surprised to hear that Ardyn is actually an ex-convict. It…fits, kind of? Not that I’ve ever met the guy or anything, but. Just from what you’ve told me about him. I’m going to ignore all the stories going around about Ardyn Lucis. Some of them are really not great. But I’m just going to pretend I haven’t heard a thing and save all my judgements for when I meet him in person._

_Because I am meeting him, right? We’re getting together soon? We have to! I need to see you. I talked to Luna about this and she’s fine going to Australia to visit so. Any time you want us there, we’ll be there. Okay? I’d really love to talk to you. Face to face. Like old times._

_I miss you so much._

_At first things were okay. There were all kinds of rumors going around about you, but it was nothing I didn’t already know. When those died down I thought everything would go back to normal. Same old, you know? But I was so wrong! Not having you around—knowing that I can’t come see you whenever I want, no matter what’s going on with us—it’s…crazy. It drives me nuts! There’s so much I have to tell you. And there’s no one here who understands like you do. I miss my best friend!_

_So yeah. Getting your letter might have made my day a little bit. Even my week. Or my month. Or…you get the idea._

_Thanks for giving me your blessing to court Luna. But to be honest? I don’t think Luna wants to get married! She told me she wrote you about this thing we have, the three of us. Me, her, and Cindy. Things are good the way we have them right now. Cindy shows up and leaves again whenever she likes. Nothing new there. Luna and I have become pretty close actually. But I would never want to pressure her into getting married. Especially if that’s not something she sees in the future for herself, you know?_

_I guess we all have a lot of things to figure out. We’re not ready, I think. But I mean…it’s not like I haven’t thought about it, you know? Marrying Luna. It’d be like a fucking dream! Crazy and awesome and…even though it might not make any sense I still can’t help dreaming about it._

_This is why I need to see you, dude. None of this makes any sense when I write it down. You’re the only person I know who might have any idea what I’m talking about…and you’re on the other side of the world! It’s so unfair._

_But, let’s forget about me for a second._

_It sounds like your life in Australia is going really good! I’m so glad! Yeah, raising horses sounds exactly like your kind of thing. I honestly haven’t been to the estate so I don’t know how Quartz is doing. But I’m sure the horses you’re meeting in Victoria (and the bush, I guess, are any of these horses from the wild? That’d be insane!) are lucky to have you as a keeper. By the way, that’s another thing I miss: Going riding with you. We had some really good times doing that, didn’t we? Rotten Row is totally not the same without you._

_It’s hard for me to imagine what the ranch is like. Are you really in the middle of nowhere? Aren’t there wild animals all around? Is that even safe? I know you said Ardyn knows how to shoot, but…please, be careful, okay? Dingos at night…I don’t know about that!_

_Write me some more soon, okay? Talking to you is the closest thing I have to sanity, I think!_

_—Your buddy Prompto_

Then there was an entirely separate page attached to the back. 

_P.S. Okay so. I fought with myself for a long time about whether or not to tell you this. At first I thought I wouldn’t even mention it, you’ve got enough on your mind. But then I left it for a few days and well…I feel like you have a right to know._

_Not that you need to do anything about it. That’s not on you at all. I’m not here to guilt or judge or anything. I just want to make sure you have all the facts._

_Because shit man. I have to sleep at night too._

_Anyway. I saw your dad the other day. Regis. We were at the Tummult’s house, me and Luna. I was escorting her actually (because you know, we sort of do that sometimes). Balls are finished for the Season so this was just like a kind of post-season get together. Relaxed, or as relaxed as Tummult’s ever gets anyway. We were just walking around talking. Chatting. Drinking a little bit._

_And then I saw Regis. He was standing in front of the small fireplace in the smoking room after dinner (I hadn’t seen him at dinner because we were sitting on opposite sides of the table). He was drinking. Looked like brandy. That was the first weird thing, I mean Regis never drank before, right? I thought you said he was a complete teetotaler. That he took tea every time someone offered him anything stronger. And as far as I remember, that was the first time I ever saw him with a glass of brandy in his hand._

_The other thing that was weird was that he was by himself. Normally Regis is surrounded by people. Friends and lords or whatever. But he was just standing there drinking._

_I kind of thought about going over and saying something. Like hello or whatever. Don’t be mad at me, okay? It’s just…he looked so alone. I’d never seen him without his friends. I thought maybe people were ignoring him. Or else, he was ignoring other people. Either way I…well, I grew up with him too, you know? He was like an uncle to me when we were kids. Or a second dad. I don’t even know._

_But I know things ended badly between you guys. So I stood there like completely unsure what to do._

_Then all of a sudden he turned around and looked at me. I don’t know if he saw my reflection in mantlepiece of if he was just naturally looking behind him…but. He stared right at me._

_Believe me when I tell you that Regis looked like shit. He’s lost a lot of weight. He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked really pale. Like maybe he’s been sick or not sleeping or something. Also he…like tottered on his feet for a second. I think he might have been drunk (I know, I know it’s impossible to believe that your dad might have been actually drunk in public of all places, but I saw what I saw)._

_When he saw me he froze for a second. Then he said like, “Oh…”_

_I said hi. He didn’t say anything back. He just stared at me. Swaying a little on his feet. I kept thinking of some way to start a conversation, but. He was scaring me a little. Just staring like that._

_So I turned tail. Said goodbye and walked right out of the smoking room without looking back. Yeah, I know. I’m a coward. But it was just too weird! I hadn’t seen Regis since before you left and I’d never planned what I would say to him. Plus I never expected to find him like that. So different, you know?_

_He’s changed. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but. I just thought I’d tell you. Since I was a little worried when I saw him._

_Okay, that’s it. Again, you don’t have to do anything about it. Totally not your problem. But in case you were wondering, that’s what’s going on._

_Once again, your buddy,  
_ _—Prompto_

Viola put down Prompto’s letter with a disbelieving shake of her head. She was assaulted by mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was unfairly happy (and a little relieved) to hear that Prompto missed her. She hadn’t thought he would, considering the way she signed her letter. A different identity. A permanent one. And yes, Prompto hadn’t referred to her as ‘Viola’ once in the entire letter. But he still acknowledged her existence. Especially as part of Noctis. He had not chosen to cut Noctis out of his life. Instead he was transferring over his friendship with Noctis to Viola. In a semi-awkward way. But that was fine! 

It healed the doubt in her heart that Prompto had moved on without her. She would definitely write to him again in the near future.

Then there was everything going on with Regis. Drinking alone at Tummult’s? How could that be true? Viola wasn’t even sure she entirely believed it! Not that Prompto would lie, but…had he seen correctly? It sounded impossible! Regis didn’t drink and he didn’t waste ample socializing time standing by himself. Nonetheless…drunk? Noctis literally could not imagine that! 

Supposing it was true, when had Regis…fallen on times such as that? What happened? There was no urgent news about the estate going to ruin. Surely Regis would gift the estate to some distant relative or a friend or something. He did not lack for those. Other than a bit of shame, Regis was in no real danger. Social or monetary. 

So then…?

A small spark of love for the man who used to be her father ignited in Viola’s heart. That same place she thought dead the night they departed. 

Maybe it wasn’t so dead after all.

…But no. Viola shook her head. No, fuck it. Regis was fine. He had all his things. His life was in order, exactly as he liked it. He’d made it clear to Noctis and Ignis that he didn’t care about his son’s whereabouts. He hadn’t thought to ask Prompto either, just stood there all awkward and shit! So no. None of that was Viola’s problem. 

Regis could live his life however he liked. She wouldn’t be the one to stop him. In fact, she would continue on exactly as she was. Doing the same. _Living_.

In the end, anger burned away that small spark of affection. As it would for years to come. They needed more time. Both of them. Time; that great healer of wounds. 

Viola planned to use her time wisely.

____________________________________________

_The Ranch  
_ _April 1858_

A year after their arrival in Victoria, Ardyn could say he was actually very pleased with the way things had turned out. Sure. Life did not necessarily proceed as planned. For example, did Ardyn plan on taking back a noblewoman, calling her his wife and then raising a stable of horses with her? No. No, that was not explicitly in the plan. You might say.

But he regretted nothing. Not one single bit of it. Going to London, though spur of the moment, had changed Ardyn’s life for the better. Completely and utterly. Even his friends from prison acknowledged that Ardyn seemed like a new man.

They all assured him many times over that they knew the reason why. A pretty young noblewoman giving him rides for free every night? Might change any man’s disposition, wouldn’t it?

Ardyn offered no other pretense as explanation. He was proud of the way Viola had changed him. He had never expected…yes, he’d never expected to fall in love again. To find meaning in another person the way he had so long ago. Love was dangerous and frightening. He must be mad to sign up for another round of it!

But how could he resist? Viola was everything. Her black hair, grown down to her elbows now. Gorgeous. Her crystalline blue eyes. Captivating and smart. He loved her to death. And Noctis too. That shy boy inside of her who reared his head every now and them. Ardyn wouldn’t trade them for the world.

He would fight to his death to keep them safe. And if, god forbid, he ever lost them….he would…he would….

Why. Why couldn’t he think of love without also thinking of loss? 

It tormented him sometimes. The fear of losing her. But he tried not to think about it. To take advantage of the time he had with her. Every moment. His head was much clearer in the outback than it had been in London. Ardyn never fell into those dark days of depression like he used to in Engheld. Or, hardly ever, anyway. It was much rarer. 

Viola’s presence made it difficult to mourn. She ushered fresh vibrance into his old ranch. The place Ardyn had bought to wait out the rest of his lifespan checking off days on a calendar. Her presence chased away the angry, desperate parts of Ardyn. The darkest parts of the ranch itself.

And the horses made a nuisance of themselves sometimes! Impossible to lose oneself in despair with so many horses running about. Ardyn pretended not to like the horses at first, but. Viola cared for them so much. Like they were her own children. How could he turn his heart from such things? The mares and stallions won him over eventually. 

“It’s nice having her around, ain’t it?” Caligo said to Ardyn one day. Referring to Viola.

“Oh yes.” Ardyn would never take her for granted. “Very nice indeed.” 

He was about to launch into a diatribe about how Caligo might find himself a wife. Or at least a lover (he knew from their days in New South Wales that Caligo was amenable to men as well as women; they all were when the lights went out back then). Or at least a pet. A dog or something. Some kind of creature that could keep Caligo company up on that lonesome hill of his—

But Caligo interrupted Ardyn’s thoughts. “I’m glad you have her, Bluey. Does you good. More than you know, I reckon.” 

These were uncommonly serious thoughts from Caligo. Heartfelt. When he looked at Ardyn, his eyes shone with a stoniness Ardyn had not seen since the days when they first met. This was Caligo’s clarity—his true self. The part he hardly showed to anyone these days. 

“…I know. I agree.” Ardyn stared at their roaring fire place and nodded. He wouldn’t argue the point. Caligo was right. 

“Keep it that way, yeah? Keep this one. Close, like.” 

Now that was just unheard of. Caligo giving love advice! Ardyn had to comment. “I’ve never heard you so keen on telling other people what they need, Jim. What’s brought this on?” 

“Hnnh.” Caligo sniffed hard. Rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. Entirely serious. “Been with you a while, ain’t I?” 

“Yes. Naturally.” 

“Well.” Caligo’s eyes pierced Ardyn to the core. “We both know where ya been, Bluey. You mourned him too long. Zoo I mean. You carried that pain far longer than Zoo ever would’ve wanted ya to.” 

Ardyn closed his eyes. It was true, wasn’t it? 

He spent too much of his life nurturing that despair. The blackness. The hatred. The anger at the world. Ardyn mourned Izunia for more than fifteen years. He refused to let it go. That…might have been his mistake. Clutching his sadness like some bizarre treasure. As if holding onto his grief would keep Izunia alive in some way. 

But. He had been wrong. Now that Viola was in his life, Ardyn realized that he had been doing it all wrong. Rehashing his grief for Izunia and his bitterness over the world’s turning was folly. It was not the way he should try to honor the man’s memory. Izunia loved life. He liked eating, good sex, using his body to its fullest extent, making friends. Laughing. Drinking. Looking out for the people he cared about. Striving to better himself. He’d had dreams. He’d wanted to own property some day. Now Ardyn was living that dream and he…couldn’t even enjoy it.

No. That was wrong. Izunia would never condone Ardyn’s continued grief. That kind of life. A man clutching at shadows and ghosts. Izunia would want Ardyn to enjoy every moment. To be his best self. 

“He would have liked her, I think,” Caligo commented. “Zoo would have taken the piss outta your woman. Make no mistake. But he’d of liked her too. End of the day and all.” 

“Heh.” Ardyn ran a tired hand through his wild hair. “Yeah. He probably would have.” 

Fuck. That was all true, wasn’t it? 

Well. Live and learn.

____________________________________

_Reedy Harbor, Victoria  
_ _14 August 1858  
_ _Wednesday - Morning_

Viola sifted through the crowd. Ardyn tried his best to keep up with her, she was moving so fast! Searching and searching. 

That was his ship, wasn’t it? The one arrived not an hour ago! People were just beginning to disembark. Viola checked every single one of their faces. She knew she would recognize him instantly—it had been over a year since they last saw each other. The question was: Would he recognize her?

She was quite changed, after all. She wore her colonial clothes; a loose white blouse with a baggy mauve skirt. No hat or bonnet covering her head. Just long black locks all the way down her back. Viola had vowed never to cut her hair again when she landed in Victoria. And so she had not. Viola had been living as a woman for a year. She was no longer a man masquerading underneath layers of crinoline. No. She was her true self. 

Would Ignis see her? Could he spot her in the crowd amongst a hundred other women, looking for their family members in this group of immigrants? 

Ardyn was not worried. “Fret not, my love,” he said on the journey over. “He’ll notice you. Without a second’s hesitation I’m sure.” 

Still Viola’s heart leapt in her chest. Ignis was eager to find her, of course. There was no doubt about that! They had been writing each other constantly to arrange the details of this meeting. Every stroke of Ignis’s pen reassured her that her valet still wanted to reunite. There was no question about feelings here.

But…Viola wanted to be seen. She wanted Ignis to know who she was because of the way she stood. Her bearing. Her presence. Their bond.

She didn’t want him to glance over her and have to be told…: ‘This is me. This is who I am now.’ She wanted him to know without having to ask.

“There!” 

She saw Ignis strolling up along the dock. He carried only a single suitcase, dragging it beside him. Were those all his possessions in the world? They were so few…

Viola immediately wanted to go to him. To rush to his side and throw her arms around him. Drag him back to her ranch. Ignis had saved her so many times…she wanted to show him what his loyalty had helped give her. A life like this. She would not be standing here if not for Ignis. 

But her own apprehension got the better of her.

Instead, Viola stood stock still. Waiting for Ignis to notice her first. This was it. The moment where he would see her or not—

His eyes passed over her. And they stopped. Those hazel eyes that saw everything—they saw her.

Tears sprang to Viola’s eyes. She stood there grinning from ear to ear and Ignis stood there, pushing up his glasses and observing what had become of his old master. His brother. His sister. His family. 

Without words, they ran to each other. Viola wrapped Ignis in a bear hug unbecoming of any woman. Ignis hugged her back.

“Finally!” she cried tearily. “Took you long enough to get here, Iggy…” 

“I know.” Ignis gathered her long locks in one hand and pushed them aside. Clearing his view of her face. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry!” Viola brushed tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Just come with me.” 

“Gladly, madam.” Now Ignis was smiling as well. He looked ever so slightly older. Calmer. A bit tan, from the voyage no doubt.

Ardyn and Ignis greeted each other with a slap to the back and a firm handshake. There was clear gratitude in both their faces. Ignis was grateful that Ardyn had looked after Viola for so long. Kept her safe. Healthy and happy in the Australian wilderness. And Ardyn was grateful to Ignis for securing their passage. They owed each other a great deal.

And they had become friends over time. A fact which neither of them realized until right that moment. Seeing each other again after a year apart. 

Friendship was a mystical thing.

————————-

Viola escorted Ignis to the front door of her ranch. “Here we are!” She gestured widely to their entire property. The horses grazing outside. Every rickety plank of the house. 

Ignis stepped inside the threshold. Just one step in. He looked left. Then looked right. Then he nodded, as if the ranch itself were just what he was expecting (or else, better than what he’d feared). It was a familiar expression. The same he’d given Engheld the first time he’d laid eyes on the place. 

“Very well,” Ignis announced. “Where shall I put my things?” 

In the span of a moment, the ranch had become home to yet another immigrant. 

At last.

Home. 

 

 

 

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outfit notes: These are Viola's [colonial clothes](https://static.artfire.com/uploads/product/5/995/48995/4148995/4148995/large/new_civil_war_pioneer_colonial_day_dress_burgundy_69732c0e.jpg). It's more or less what she wears every day. These are more [variations on the type clothes she would wear](https://www.etsy.com/listing/72571679/civil-war-colonial-prairie-pioneer-dress?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=colonial%20skirt&ref=sr_gallery-1-23). 
> 
> And so, here we are! Finally it ends :') Final count (Six of One included, since they are the same story): 233k words and 639 pages in my word processor. So, huzzah friends! If you stayed with me through to the end of this monstrously long story, then...I don't know what to say except that you probably know me way too well at this point. And thank you for sharing this with me. (And how?? How on earth did you put up with this for months?? But I digress.) 
> 
> Hoping there is more to come! We still need Luna's story (the threesome, heheh). And a final piece of closure between all our characters (Regis included). Might also expand some other parts if people are interested. I have tons of headcanons floating around and I just need a reason to write them down ;) 
> 
> Also, did I mention [I made a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f7bh2oaj57ipv6d1yya22mwi3/playlist/2deBtLkebz4y6XxlAgLCih?si=AwvD83FAQm2ZjpHlJYGBWQ) for this series on spotify? Last song is a cover of Kanye West's 'Only One.' There you have it: 'Keep on rising til the sky knows your name.' 
> 
> Live your truth, fam. <3

**Author's Note:**

> As always, [my tumblr](https://jeejascoffee.tumblr.com/). Much love!


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